


Exposition & Excerpts

by Louzeyre



Series: Miss Veronica Mars and Lord Logan [1]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-08-20 02:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louzeyre/pseuds/Louzeyre
Summary: An attempt at creating a late Georgian/ long regency era Veronica Mars AUNow a short comic video on youtube!





	1. Chapter 1

To many, the seaside resort of Norton seems a place of fashion and elegance. A favourite of those who seek society or health. A rare jewel along the Sussex coast. To Veronica Mars it was a place of dissipation and corruption. She had no doubt that had the fever of revolution moved across the channel, one of the first guillotine would have been situated in Norton.

Veronica had been born but a few miles away at the Kane family seat of Reed Hall. Not as a member of the Kane family, but as the daughter of Lord Kane’s land steward for his estates around, in and under the town. At the age of five she had had the great fortune of being invited by Lord Kane to join his daughter as her schoolroom companion. For more than ten years Veronica shared the best governess, the most distinguished masters and an intimate and particular friendship with Lady Lillias. Hers was not the only friendship resulting from this alliance.

The estate immediately adjoining to Reed Hall, Oakhollow Abbey, was the principal and preferred estate of the twelfth Baron Logan. When this noble gentleman died his title (having been created by writ) was inherited by his daughter, his estate was placed in trust for his grandson and said grandson, was installed in the Abbey nursery.

The lands of both the Hall and the Abbey were as large and could be expected for such families. Their residences, however, rather than being placed at their centre were placed as if meant to facilitate felicity and friendship between the two families. It was therefore natural and expected that the future Lord Logan, then simply Mr. Logan-Leister-Echolls, would become the playmate and friend of Lord Kane’s son. The two boys quickly obliged. Lady Lillias and Veronica as her companion, were equally quick to follow. From that time until the boys were sent to school and during each school holiday after the four young people spent as much time in each other’s company as education and obligations would allow.

As childhood turned to youth, a particularity grew between Lady Lillias and the then Mr. Logan-Leister-Echolls such that, by the time of her debut, many thoughts there would soon be an understanding between them.

At age of sixteen Lady Lillias had decided that Veronica would join her in society, just as she had in all other aspects of her education. While Lady Lillias’ powers of persuasion did not extend quite far enough to allow a steward’s daughter to be presented in court or granted a London season, immediately after returning from her own, she insisted that Veronica come out as well, making her a necessary addition to every ball, assembly, water party or picnic to which Lady Lillias herself was invited. For a time, it seemed as though Veronica’s life would be filled by no more troubles or disappointments as can be expected by any poor relation or agent's daughter pressed into acting as a companion to a pretty young woman of superior rank and wealth. But Norton and fate were not so kind.

Just two months after Veronica began her own rather peculiar first season, Lady Lillias was found dead by one of the follies doting the edge of the Kane’s estate. Lord Kane believed her death to be no more than an unfortunate accident and encouraged the coroner to come to swiftly come to a similar conclusion so as to lessen the possibility for scandal. Mr. Mars, whose position made him far more intimately familiar with the grounds, and servants than Lord Kane and who, prior to his marriage, had trained as an attorney, did not agree. 

Mr. Mars sense of justice, his moral character, his worthy beliefs all led him to act in a way which many might see as folly: he voiced his concerns at the coroner’s inquest. Even Mr. Mars was not entirely surprised when he soon after lost his position and the Mars family their home.

Mrs. Mars entreated Mr. Mars to leave Norton and start anew; to find position or start practice in a place where they were unknown. Mr. Mars insisted on remaining in the town he had come to think of as his home, even when he found the only cases with which he was presented were those that his client would not or could not bring to their family attorney and which often required skills and actions more fitting for a thief-taker than an attorney.

Mrs. Mars left soon after.

Veronica found herself as her father's only assistant, both at home and in his occupation and began assisting directly with those parts of a case which did not require an attorney eventually taking on investigations of her own.  
After this fall from grace, Veronica found herself no longer welcome within society, even by those who she had thought to be her friends. Many were cruel. Lord Logan’s cut was the cruellest.

Much like Veronica herself, He was ruled by rage, distrust and desire for revenge. It was likely due to this similarity in temperaments that he and Veronica would eventually not only reconcile but form an attachment to one another. It was assuredly why this attachment would break.  
Veronica’s life would be thrown into upheaval yet again a few months shy of her nineteenth birthday. It was then that Veronica discovered that her part in an inquiry had brought not just herself but also her father on to the edge of a very different sort of ruin. One that might see one of both of them imprisoned, transported or worse.

While she was able eventually to create a solution, which allowed all parties to escape reasonably content, she felt acutely the pains she had caused to her father and friends. To avoid such injuries in the future she afterwards avoided all involvement in her father’s occupation and took up first a position as a teacher at a private seminary in the north and then one as a governess to the daughters King Family  
And so, at the age four and twenty, Veronica could be found in the rather un-heroine position of a tolerably well treated governess in a respectable family with three pupils as well behaved as one could expect from girls close to the end of their education.

But when a woman is destined to become a heroine, something will throw adventure into her path. For Veronica that something rather unexpected included a return Mr. King’s gout, an unfortunately want of accurate maps of the Iberian Peninsula and the rather melancholy and shocking events leading to the death of the widowed Comtesse de Ville.

These events, however, would require a novel in and of themselves to tell in full. In this work, their import is simply this: they brought Miss Mars back to Norton, back to her father’s house and occupation, back to the circle of friends she had had during her youth, and back into the particular acquaintance of the Comtesse’ former intended, and Veronica’s former friend, Lord Logan.


	2. A Proposal

When Veronica had returned to Norton she had found Lord Logan much changed. The fault and defects in his character, morals and temper to which those close to her had objected and which had persuaded her of the unsuitableness of a match between, had been moderated, reformed or removed. He had become, not a man without faults, but one whose previous faults no longer ruled him, allowing the constancy, bravery, openness of heart and desire to do right that had always been present to some degree within him to the fore.

With many of her scruples now removed, Veronica found that the feelings which she had once had for Lord Logan, which she had believed forgotten still remained within her, and were now joined with a genuine esteem for the man he had become.

In short, she was in love with Lord Logan. And while she had hope that such feelings would be returned, were she to voice them, it seemed unlikely she would soon be given the opportunity, even if she desired it.

With the troubles surrounding the Comtesse’s death now over, Lord Logan had returned to his regiment and seemed unlikely to return to Norton for some time. She did not even have the comfort of a correspondence that a formal understanding between them would allow.

She was therefore filled with odd mixture of surprise, happiness and trepidation upon seeing Lord Logan in Norton as she left her preferred circulating library several weeks after his removal.

He appeared to be searching for someone but upon seeing her, came over in such a direct manner she could only assume she had, in fact been his object.

It has been said that a uniform may make a homely man handsome and a handsome man more so. As Lord Logan approached, however, Miss Mars could not help but think that the it was not that a uniform that set him to best advantage, but rather that figure was now formed to embody the what a cavalry office should be that it was he would set any uniform wearing it to its. But perhaps she could not be trusted to be an impartial judge in matter.

Veronica’s companion, Miss Mackenzie quickly made her excuses, leaving Veronica to meet Lord Logan alone. 

They greeted each other with the expected pleasantries for two who had known each other so long and so well after which Lord Logan asked Miss Mars if would join him in a walk along the seaside Promenade, a request she quickly acceded to.

As they reached the walk and he sea came into view, Lord Logan’s demeanor changed slightly and after a few moments he turned towards her with new earnestness.

“I have missed you, these last few weeks,” he began. “I know it may seem strange, even silly, given the long term of our estrangement, and our short period of our renewed acquaintance, but it is true. I have found myself wishing to ask your opinions, share an anecdote, or an amusing observation many times since I have left Norton.”

“It is not silly.” Was her only reply, but he seemed to correctly distinguish her meaning however, and gave her a sad smile, before continuing.

“I am being sent to Portugal.”

Her first instinct was to protest. He had only just returned from the Peninsula a few months prior. Surely, after his service at Sahagun and during subsequent retreat across the Peninsula to Corunna he should not be expected to return abroad so soon. But she knew such sense had not place in discussing the army. Instead she only hazard to ask,

“When?”

“A fortnight. A bit more.” He looked towards the sea for a moment, as if trying to draw strength from the sight before speaking.

“I used to believe ours was the sort of attachment that poets write about.”

The thought hurt like a physical blow.

“But you do not anymore.” She forced out. He shook her his head, turning back to her.

“Poets write too often of the fickle sort of passion born of first impression or of the passing love of first attachments, not that of true understanding, admiration and respect. A poet would say he could not imagine spending month, perhaps years, away from his beloved without at least the small comfort of her letters. But I can image it. I have lived it, and I did survive, however close run a thing it may have been at times, and I could survive it again if that is what you wanted. But I very much wish it is not.”

The pain fell away, but was replaced with an agitation part anticipation, part anxiety. Whatever his action may once have been. Whatever they might have once been to one another, nothing of what she knew of who Lord Logan was now suggested that he would ask of her anything that was truly unpropitious. That left only one possible object.

“I know that in our youth you often stated that you had resolved never to marry. I know that neither life that I could offer you, either as Lady Logan, or as a cavalry officer’s wife is what you would wish for yourself. I have no doubt you are even now thinking of numerous scruples and obstacles that should prevent an understanding from being formed between us.”

She was not. She already knew them by heart.

“But even so, I cannot help but hope. To ask you to consider that perhaps, the risk might be worth the reward. That being all that we could be, as husband and wife, may be adequate compensation for the disadvantages of being married.”

Veronica did not know how she could speak, she was so overcome with contradictory sentiments and thoughts, but somehow,, she managed but one word:

“How?”

Lord Logan stared back at her in confusion for a moment before finally hazarding.

“Miss Mars,”

She quickly stopped him.

“How can you still hope. How can you want to marry, after everything that has happened? After everything we have seen. Our parents. Our acquaintances. Ourselves. How can you still be willing to take that risk?”

“I love you.” He said, candidly. “I believe you love me as well. If that is case, how can I not? As for my parents, any true mutual admiration is certainly more than they could ever claim, even at the start. As for the rest. I cannot claim to know all the particulars of your parents' marriage, but what understanding I do have is that their unhappiness in their match, was not do to their vows to one another. Moreover, I am not asking with license in hand. Our engagement will be by necessity be a long one. If there is a defect in our attachment or a change in our regard for one another, however unlikely I believe it, we will have plenty of opportunity to discovery it.”

They were both silent for a minute. Her scruples, she feared, could not be as easily overcome as his own. But then, when she thought of her agitation the last few weeks, and of the man years proceeding them. Or of the pain the fear of the loss of his regard had caused her only a few moments ago, what answer could she give?

“I cannot give up my inquiries or investigations.” She finally said. He smiled.

“I would not ask you to. I am far to frequent their beneficiary.”

“People will say I am an adventuress.”

“Only the very stupid.”

“Society will not be as pleased with my activities, or my background. You will no longer be welcomed within many circles.”

“If you are not welcome, I would not wish to be. In fact, if you are not welcome, I will gladly give them the cut direct and dismiss them forever from my notice.”

“Our children would not thank you for it.”

“I would hope they would be of a similar minded, or at least be thankful enough for the own existence.” Then added far more hesitatingly “Is this a yes?” She smirked.

“A yes or no imply first a question. And for the particular question you seem to be attempting to ask, I believe there are certain customs which generally observed.”

Lord Logan paused a moment, apparently turning over their conversation in his head. Then he returned her smirk, and fell unto his knee with all the pathos she had feared drilled out of him by the army.

“Miss Mars. I love you. Ardently and completely. As I am about to leave our fair shore, to face the French sword and shot, I beg of you. Please. Will you make me the happiest of men and say that you will marry me.”

“Yes.” Her voice was smaller and more strained with emotions than she had intended. It did not matter.

Logan jumped up, a genuine joy upon his face that she did not think she had ever seen, even if their childhood. As such she allowed them both to indulge in it for a time before reminding him of the necessary second step of his proposal, at which point a small portion of the joy, and a great deal of blood seemed to drain from his face.

“Perhaps I could wait to ask for his blessing. Until I am across the channel.” Veronica made face.

“You do not hesitate to face the French “sword and shot” but you are afraid of a country lawyer?” She asked with amusement.

“Yes. Certainly.”

“Then at least you have your intelligence to recommend you.”

“I suppose you are right.” He sighed. Then offered her his hand. She took it, happy in indulging in this small liberality her ascent had now given them.

“Once more in to the breach?”

“Tonight.” She suggested. “Come to dinner. We keep country hours, so we'll dine at five, if you can stand such unfashionable ways. We can calm him with his preferred foods and you may ask him afterwards.”

“I think I’ll manage. Should I bring anything? Port? Gin? Some rare cricket antiquity?”

“Ices, perhaps? From Amelia's?”

“That seems more a dish to appease you then your father, but believe it can be arranged." They stayed for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s company and their current happiness before Veronica was forced to think of the time. 

"My father is expected me home." She confessed. 

"May I escort you?" She thought a moment and smiled.

"Let us take the long way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for their kind comments (and kudos). I would (again) really appreciate any comments or critics. I'm not sure how well I was able to capture the characters voices, especially given the attempts at continuing the style from the first chapter, so I would really like to know people's opinions.
> 
> The movie had to cram a lot of stuff into a very short period of time, so I've deconstructed it a little then stitched it back together in a way that I hope will work and give the characters a bit more time to breath. I'm planning to do something along the same lines with seasons 2 and 3, cherry picking certain event to have occurred before Veronica left Norton, while saving others to weave into the story later on. If there is a particular mystery or even you'd like to see me attempt to regency-fy please let me know. 
> 
> I decided to make Logan a cavalry office (rather than a naval officer) primarily because of age: during the Georgian period the average naval officers started their career at 13. I wanted Logan to have time to know the Kanes and Veronica and have a little dissipation, but more than that I wanted joining the military to be a choice he made to better himself and that wouldn't have happened at 13.
> 
> I have similarly overly analyzed backstory for pretty much all the main characters. Some will be revealed along the way. Until then, if you have any questions (or suggestions) please let me know.
> 
> Thank you again for reading.


	3. Mr. Mars

Mr. Mars in childhood and youth had been a boy who, for his own amusement, would take up any broadsheet, pamphlet or copy of the Newgate Calendar he could obtain, fascinated by their lurid tales of criminals and their capture. It was an interest his parent did not understand, but, unlike many, they also did not see a need to temper it. Rather, they thought to take advantage of their son’s interest and, when he was of the appropriate age, arrange for him to be articled to an attorney in the nearest market town. 

The attorney in question was not, perhaps, the ideal mentor for a young man interested in criminal law as he had rarely had occasion to take such a case. He saw no reason for his apprentice not to study them, however, provided that he finished his other work and quickly began to dream of the day when the young Mr. Mars would change from apprentice to partner and he could expand their practice, perhaps even as far as the nearest town to hold assizes.

Mr. Mars also dreamed. He knew he was unlikely, due to his family and education, to ever be called to the bar as a barrister, but he saw no shame, and a great deal of interest in making his way to London and becoming one of the attorneys who prepared cases for such men at the Old Bailey or even the King’s Bench. All these dreams were forever changed when Mr. Mars met Miss Anne Reynolds.

Mr. Reynold had, like Mr. Mars studied law and, in that regard, it seemed a very equitable match. But Miss Anne had the sort of beauty and liveliness that often leads to speculation on a far grander match then the young women’s family situation would generally allow. And yet Anne had chosen him, and because this he would have been content to live in the most disagreeable of places on earth if it had made her happy. To move to Norton, to take up the position of land steward to Lord Kane from her father when he superannuated, seemed not just a reasonable request, but a happy suggestion as they would be able to marry right away, rather than wait until his practice was successful enough to support them both. When Veronica was born just a year after they had taken possession of Reed Hall’s steward’s cottage, he thought his life was complete.

He could not say when he first began to suspect Anne’s affair; the understanding had come upon him so gradually, and he had fought against it so hard that the precise moment it first was planted was long forgotten. The same could be said as to the point he had come to a silent resignation to it and, in time, to her drinking, if only so he could keep the Veronica ignorant and happy. 

He equally could not say when he began thinking that his life should feel complete, rather than that it did.

Mr. Mars has heard stories of soldiers who are shot in such a way that the doctor determines it would be more dangerous to remove the ball that keep it where it is, and so they are left with it inside them sometimes for years, without incident until, one day, it shifts slightly, finally killing them. That was what his discontentedness, his aggravation, his vexation with what his life amounted became. A weight inside him, unseen and mostly unfelt but there with him always. Lady Lillias’ death had shifted it.

He had not lost his life, but it had had lost him much else: his security, his reputation and most significantly, Veronica’s future.

He should have found a way to remove her from Norton and the Kanes after his dismissal. He should have taken a position elsewhere, or sent her to stay with relatives, or found a way to send her away to a school. But he was prideful, and he was desperate, and he was lonely. By the time he had realized his mistake, it was too late. 

As distressing as the event immediately preceding Veronica’s removal from Norton had been, he had been grateful for them in way, for in being so distressing he had thought they had had taught Veronica what he could not: that his was not an example to follow.

When Veronica had arranged to stay in Norton after the Kings had returned to London following the Comtesse’s death, he had tried to convinced himself that her good sense would eventually win out and she would take her position back up after everything had been settled.

But he had not been truly surprised when, a few days ago a package had arrived containing what few things she had left in London. Veronica had confessed on its arrival that she had written to the Kings, offering to return to London as their daughter’s governess, until such time as they were able to find her replacement, only for them to say her return was unnecessary. As much as he could see he was uncomfortable in relating this answer, he could also see her relief.

Mr. Mars understood the restlessness, the agitation, the need for action that Veronica felt, because he had experienced it himself. But he had also experienced their consequences. Seeking justice in their world was not easy and it was not safe. He could only fear where her decision to stay would lead.

It was with all this in mind that Mr. Mars received the news that Lord Logan would be joining them for dinner. 

He had noticed, of course, the renewal of the particularity of affections between Veronica and Lord Logan. Whether or not this should increase his fears of her choice to stay in Norton or not was not clear. Even just a few years ago he would have most certainly felt it was. And whatever the change in character which Lord Logan had appeared to have undergone since his return from France, Mr. Mars had seen all too well how fickle he could be in his treatment of Veronica following Lady Lillias’ death. And yet, to all account he had changed, in such a way that had it been anything other than Mr. Mars own daughter’s happiness in question, he would have readily considered correcting his past estimation of him.

Mr. Mars was therefore more than a bit relieved when a messenger arrived with a note from one of the Magistrate's agents, Mr. Sacks, stating that man had chosen this night of all nights to finally choose to speak to Mr. Mars and thus necessitating a delay of the anticipated dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, to everyone who has commented (or given kudos). I (again) would really appreciate any comments, criticism or suggestions. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	4. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I’m going to be experimenting a bit with POV. I hope this isn’t jarring for anyone.

A wife or daughter of an attorney, or a steward for that matter, was expected to know the rudiments of cookery. Veronica had watched her mother, in the kitchen when she was young, but Mrs. Mars had always had assistance from at least one servant, and, especially as Veronica had grown older, managed more than participate. When they had been forced to move into meaner accommodations and Veronica and Mr. Mars had had to do for themselves, Mr. Mars would often bring food home or Veronica would make simple fair that could be cooked over the hearth in their own rooms or, occasionally, the family kitchen of the landlord. As a teacher and as a governess, of course she had her meals furnished, often eating along with the Kings, when they did not have guests. Her father, like most widowers or bachelors, had hired a charwoman to come in several days a week do the cleaning up and occasional cooking, but took most of his meals out, at one of Norton’s pie shops, chop houses or public houses; A system that had already becoming progressively strained due to her return to the household.

 

All of which meant, as Veronica stared out at the small, doubtfully clean and poorly stocked kitchen in the back of her father’s narrow rented house, she was forced to come to the somewhat distressing understanding the nothing she could prepare there, and certainly nothing she could prepare in the short time until Logan was expected, could be considered dinner in the generally accepted sense.

 

After a few brief moments of agitation, Veronica reminded herself that tonight was neither a test nor show of her skill, but a means of introducing to her father the sort of man Lord Logan was now, with all the natural help that came from a good meal of her father’s favourite foods would sanguinely provide. With this object now again in mind, Veronica took a few good breaths, considered her plan, and headed back out into Norton with the intention of proceeding towards her father’s favourite pie shop.

 

This decision proved somewhat providential, for both her and her father, as one of the few ways her father's decision to postpone what might have otherwise have proved one of the more important evenings of her life could have proved more vexing, would have been if she had at the already put in the effort to cook the entire meals. The purchased meat and cheese tarts at the very least could be saved for a future meal, even with the added cheese already melted on top.

 

Her father had been considerate enough to ask the message who had brought the note necessitating the delay of their dinner to stay, so that she could in turn send a message to Lord Logan. After instructing him to deliver the letter to the Castleblanche’s house in Apple Crescent, she was left to turned back to the kitchen to and decide what of the food she had made could best be preserved.

 

****

 

The ices were the first losses of the evening. He had already placed his order at Amelia’s and begun to dress when the Veronica’s note was delivered to him.

 

As he hoped to spend his life with Veronica, he knew it best not to anger the proprietor of the chief confectioner’s in Norton, so the order was not canceled, and Logan found himself pondering what he could do with half a dozen servings each of white coffee and pistachio iced cream before it formed a puddle inside its quickly melting ice filled box and began to drip unto the Castleblanche’s table

 

After due (and perhaps overlong) consideration he came to the conclusion that while he could not dine with Veronica while her father was not at home, he may be permitted, at least, to deliver the confection to her and perhaps share a few moments of conversation during it transfer. After relating his scheme to the Castleblanche’s cook, she reluctantly allowed him use of a seau à glace and prepared the dish with fresh ice and salt. In spite these precautions, however by the time he had found his way back to the Mars house, the contents were more a soup, then an ice. 

 

However, Logan did not consider the errand a complete failure: he had contrived to speak to Veronica, if only for a short while. It was still nicely sweet and creamy soup even if it now had a less than desirably consistency in its present state and he had not broken the pail like device entrusted to him. While he was disappointed that things between himself and Miss Mars would need to wait to be properly settled, he was, he may allow, less disappointed to have more time to prepare for his meeting with Mr. Mars. All told, Logan was, in fact, in quite high spirits as he turned from the Mars home and began to make his way towards his own borrowed lodgings.

 

This was of course when he heard the scream.

 

****

 

It was usually expected that the local magistrate would be chosen from among the most prominent landholders in an area. Not a peer, as they would of course to spend much of their time in London, with the court and in parliament, but a member of the gentry or a baronet, who had enough independent means that they would not need to use either the fees received for a conviction (or the bribes which could be achieved through an acquittal) to enhance their own fortune. Mr. Mars had more than a few scruples as to whether such a man would actually act in so responsible and just a manner as this supposed, but these doubts in the end signified little. Few men of such standing were willing to take up the position. 

 

As it was, the man who had been appointed in Norton barely made the qualifications to become a magistrate and used his position for only his own advancement, and had created an organized conspiracy of corrupt agents and criminals that would have made Jonathan Wild envious.

He reflected that at one time he may have placed some fault on Lord Logan for not stepping forward himself, or throwing his influence behind a more suitable prospect, but whatever objections he may have toward Lord Logan as Veronica’s suitor, even Mr. Mars had to allow it was difficult to make such an accusation at the man, when recent events had shown just how small his influence truly was compared to the Kanes, the Landros’s or even the Haldermans. Even more so, given that the current appointment had been made while Lord Logan was still imprisoned in France.

 

Mr. Mars had been working on one of the magistrate’s agents for some time. He could not say what, precisely, had caused Jeremy Sack’s conscience to finally overcame his fears, but Mr. Mars was glad of it. He would have been more glad still if Sack had agreed to meet at a different time and place however.

 

Mr. Mars had suggested they meet at a public house. A place both loud and crowded such that a chance meeting could be reasonably affected, and their conversation would not be heard. Sacks had not wanted to be seen together, even in such a setting. He also would not trust a hired driver so they might speech inside a carriage. He would not entertain the thought of meeting at eithers' lodgings. Mr. Mars was surprised he had trusted anyone so far to act as his messenger.

 

In the end, Mr. Sacks fears had placed their meeting in the stable of an Inn a short distance from Mr. Mars own rented house where the ostler had been paid to keep away for a time, no doubt believing an assignation of a more intimate nature was taking place. Mr. Mars suspected he would never be able to comfortably take a meal there again.

 

In spite of this, the setting did little, to lessen Sacks anxiety and agitations. Mr. Mars was only able to coax a few vague phrases out of him before an imagined noise startled Sacks out of the stables and into the maze of narrow streets running behind. Mr. Mars followed without real thought, hoping to tempt Sacks into continuing.

 

In the fashionable parts of town, oil lamps had long been installed, and link boys with lamps were present for hire for those who wished to venture beyond their extent, particularly when headed towards the more notorious areas.

 

Here, once he had turned a corner and was no longer within the dim pool of light coming from inside the Inn, Mr. Mars found himself in near darkness and forced to navigate only by the small sliver of the moon and the bobbing, will-o-wisp like glow come from the rushlight Sacks carried.

 

Too late, Mr. Mars understood that the noise was not imagined, and Sacks had not been startled, but was being herded.

 

Following a turn into a still smaller street, even this light was extinguished, and Mr. Mars could only just see that they had found themselves in at a blind alley, and that a shadow that could only be another man was waiting for them.

 

He heard, more than saw what now happened. There was the rap off an object colliding with human flesh, then the wet sounds of a knife doing the same. Someone called out. No. He had called out, and he was not the only one to notice. Behind him Mr. Mars heard movement. A second villain. He returned to face this new threat, only to find something hard coming down hard and fast upon him, before being knocked insensible.

 

****

 

Logan followed the cry down a small side street, which bent just out of the line of sight of the larger road. A short way down, the street crossed with another, even small. As Logan approached the mouth of one such alley the glow from the lantern he carried, gradually lit two man standing over a third. The former were dressed in great coats and top hats, with scarves covering the lower portion of their faces. They looked more like players acting at being highwaymen than actual footpads, but the lifeless man at their feet was quite real.

 

Battles between opposing cavalry in which both stand, and face each other to fight are rare. When presented with a line of men riding beasts weighing hundreds of pounds and holding their swords raised, the instinct of both horse and man is to flee. A cavalry office, more often than not, was primarily tasked with making sure he and his men were not the ones to give in to this instinct first. Logan had always felt himself at an advantage in this as his nature had always tended toward imprudence.

 

The footpads proved to have a nature more ruled by self-preservation.

 

As he ran towards these men, clamorous crying out and brandishing his lantern as a weapon one of them very quickly came to the conclusion that whatever business he still had with the man now on the ground was not worth an altercation with a possibly mad witness and swiftly took off into the night. Unfortunately, this was not the man holding the knife.

 

Logan shifted slightly, keeping the lantern between himself and the weapon, as he used the momentum of his run to throw himself at the remaining man, sending them both crashing into the brick alley wall. The footpad let out a gasp, but quickly recovered tried to move out from where Logan was pinned against him. Unwilling to give up the light of the lantern if possible, or let go of the arm he had already contained, Logan pulled back his head and slammed into the other man. Pressing his advantage at the man’s momentary confusion then he reached back his h is hand still holding the lantern slightly and hit the lantern’s edge into the man’s wrist, forcing his fingers to weaken and sending the knife clattering to the ground.

 

A noise came from further down the cross street, just past the entrance to the alley. Fearing the first villain had returned, Logan glanced back. The thief in his possession took advantage of this distraction to land blow at Logan’s stomach forcing Logan to step back slightly and allowing the man the space to free himself. 

 

Thankfully, however, it the fled thief had not returned. Near the alley’s mouth there was only a link boy, no more than 10, with his lantern raise and his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. On full appreciating what he was witnessing, he dashed back towards the larger street, shouting out the hue and cry, while the remaining villain decided to follow his associate’s example and ran in the opposite direction.

 

Logan paused a moment, and considered whether to give chase, but a groan from their victim brought his attention back to the alley. Somehow the lantern had remained lit though the fight and Logan raised it to examine the unfortunate man, only to be shocked to see he was Mr. Mars. 

 

Kneeling down, Logan could see that there was the beginnings of a contusion on his head that Logan feared might indicate a greater injury, and his leg was at an awkward ankle spoke of it being broken, although, thankfully, the bone did not appear to have pierced through the skin, which greatly increased his chances of recovery. More troubling was the knife wound to his side and the blood spreading from it.

 

Logan could also now see a massy shadow still further down the alley that took a moment to distinguish as a second victim. This review was far quicker. The man, who Logan thought familiar but could not place, was most certainly dead.

 

As he turned back towards Mr. Mars, the boy’s cries had already begun to draw curious bystanders.

 

Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out several shillings and gestured with them up to the first young man to arrive.

 

“Do you know where the surgeon, Mr. Gilbert lives?” The man stared at the money and nodded.

 

“Run to him now. Tell him Lord Logan has sent you. Have him come to Mr. Mars lodgings. Then added,

 

“If you can get him there within three quarters of an hour, I will give you a guinea.” The man’s eyes grew wide, and he nearly forgetting to stay for Logan’s further instructions before pushing through the forming crowd and taking off at a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone (again) for your comment and kudos. As always I would really love any criticism, or comments you may have. If you have either a question about anything or that I've either included an anachronism, a typo or some other issue, please let me know. I hope you enjoy the chapter.


	5. Aftermath

Veronica had always believed herself as a person who retained her good sense and reason in the face of crisis or danger. On seeing her father insensible and bleeding, however, this instinct, which had served her so well when she herself was at risk, seemed to desert her.

 

She moved mechanically, almost without consciousness, as she led Logan and the other man upstairs to conveying her father to his bed, then returned down again to wait for the surgeon. Some of the party that followed in their wake spoke to her but she could not say what was said; gradually all but Logan drifted out again, but when precisely she was left alone in her father’s small sitting room.

 

Her senses gradually began to return with the arrival of the surgeon. She noted that he and Logan seemed greeted each other as if acquainted, she registered Logan moving down and up the stairs apparently to give a reward the man who had fetched the surgeon, she carefully catalogued the surgeon countenance as he surveyed her father’s injuries. By the time the surgeon suggested her removal from the room she had fully come back to herself--- and she quickly made it clear she emphatically disagreed with the proposal.

 

The surgeon glanced toward Logan, as if hoping for support. but to her relief and gratification Logan returned a look which instead seemed to imply he thought him mad for the making such a suggestion and the surgeon was forced to face her again.

 

“Miss Mars ---”

 

“Lord Logan will be needed to hold,” She swallowed, “He will be need to hold my father down while you work. Your case seems hardly large enough to hold all your instruments, and certainly could not have concealed a nurse. You will need an additional pair of hands to gather supplies and assist you with the procedure. Mine are the only one’s present. I am staying.” He made one more feeble attempt at an objection.

 

“This will not be pleasant Miss Mars.” Veronica simply raised her brow in challenge. After giving one last look toward Logan, and another towards his still unconscious patient, the surgeon let out a sigh and began to list those items he needed her to secure for him.

 

****

 

Whatever his errors in understand human nature, or, at the very least, a Mars’ nature, the surgeon had been correct: it had not been pleasant. Her father had drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the procedure, with even Logan’s strength taxed in keeping him still enough for the surgeon to proceed.

 

Finally, after her father’s most pressing injuries had been attended to and a tincture given to him to alleviate the pain and help him to sleep, both Veronica and Logan were sent out of the room with the somewhat hopeful assurance that, saving the always present threat of infection or fever, her father had every chance to recover.

 

Relieved, they had both moved down stairs, only to realize they were somewhat unsure how to proceed. Veronica moved toward the kitchen, with the intention of distracting herself with cleaning up and was surprised, but pleasantly so, when Logan followed her.

 

She could not help but see the irony in that fact that he was now ending his night sitting at her family’s small table, but in such different circumstances than had hoped and agitated over only a few hours ago. As she watched Logan fidget with his cup, an action more like the boy she had known than the man she was coming to, she reminded again how much more at home she felt here, even in moments such as this, than she had not only in her time at as a teacher or governess. She supposed that was why she did not anticipate his question.

 

“Is there someone who could stay with you?”

 

“You wish to leave?”

 

“God no.” He said, before composing himself, “I will stay as long as you wish me to, but I do not know if it would be wise for me to stay once Gilbert has left.” Veronica replied with a face which suggested exactly how wise she thought it would be for him to leave.

 

“I will be expected to speak to the magistrate as to what happened as soon as possible.” She snorted.

 

“The magistrate is most likely the one who sent the men who did this.”

 

“All the more reason not to give him cause to come into this house while your father is still not conscious.” He countered. “More significantly, your father will need you a great deal in the coming weeks. You need to rest while you can, and I doubt Mr. Mars would wish to awaken to find me as his nurse.”

“I need to rest? You rode to Norton this morning, even before engaging in fisticuffs with a footpad and assisting in a surgery. You are the one who looks as if you have been through a battle.”

 

She realized her error even before the corner of Logan’s mouth curled up slightly in amusement.

 

“Is this where I argue my manly constitution and soldiery make me better equipped to forestall fatigue and we begin a quarrel that will either prologue our time together or make its ending less vexing?” Veronica made another face before dropping herself into the chair across from him.

 

“No,” she sighed, “This is where I admit, that since I have begun offering up arguments to support your suggestion, you may be correct that I am over fatigued.”

 

Logan was surprised at the admission, but also it had apparently grown, intelligent enough not to comment on it further.

 

Who to ask, once that decision was made to do so, was rather clear.

 

The Fennels had moved to Norton a little more than half a year after the Mars family had been forced to leave their home on the Reed Hall estate. After the death of her husband Mrs. Fennel had taken possession of a house in Norton with the intention of using it as a lodging or boarding house aimed at the respectable middling sort who came to Norton more for their health than for its society. The scheme had been more or less a success, although they more often lodged those in the respectable trades and professions which seemed to always follow the fashionable, rather than the visitors themselves.

 

Veronica had formed a friendship with Mrs. Fennel’s eldest son, Mr. Wallace Fennel, after he had unintentionally run foul of a group of local poachers and smugglers. This friendship (as well as Mr. Mars assistance in dealing with a boarder who had proved to be neither respectable, nor respectful) had led to a friendship then forming between their respective parents. More than a friendship in truth, for Veronica believed that, at one time, if Mr. Mars had been free to marry, he would have happily asked Mrs. Fennel to change her name to his. He was not free, however, and her seemed unlikely ever to be, and so this friendship had necessarily cooled. Even so, Veronica knew if there was anyone who her father would want to see at his bedside when he awoke other than herself, it would be Mrs. Fennel.

 

However much she may agree that they needed additional help, Veronica could not help but wish that Logan would be able to stay just a little while longer as 

 

A man covered in blood will cause alarm, however fashionable and expensive a blue coat it is staining.” She reasoned. “Perhaps someone else should perform the errand.”.” 

 

Logan did make some attempt to argue that he would, mostly likely, need to return to the Castleblanche to find such a messenger and may just as well change his clothes, but eventually conceded.

 

“You will stay then? After you have found such a messenger?” She watched as Logan seemed to study her for a moment.

 

“Would you want me to?” He asked cautiously. “Even once she arrives?” Veronica reached across the table and put her hand into his.

 

“Yes.”

 

****

 

Veronica awoke wrapped in warmth. In those first a the few moments, between wakefulness and sleep, she allowed herself to indulge in the sensation. But the events of the previous day, good and bad, soon came tumbling back to her. Her feet had barely touched the floor before she had wrapped her dressing gown around herself and made her way across the narrow hall towards her father’s door. Without pausing, she began to open it, but stilled when she saw Mrs. Fennel leaning down over her father, resting her hand on his shoulder.

 

The sound of the door, however, was too loud not to go unnoticed in such an otherwise quiet moment, and Mrs. Fennel looked up. Seeing Veronica, she carefully moved away from the bed to meet her just outside the door. She quickly assured Veronica that there had been no decline in her father’s condition since she had finally been convinced to retire shortly after Lord Logan and the surgeon had left.

 

Veronica and Mrs. Fennel had not always been in harmony with one another. Mrs. Fennel had felt that Veronica’s actions placed her son at risk. Veronica had originally felt disobliged by the attachment between Mrs. Fennel and her father, unable, as she had been at the time to accepted the permanence of her mother’s desertion. They had come to an accord prior to Veronica’s removal from Norton, but it was only after this removal and through their subsequent correspondence that a true friendship had somewhat unintentionally formed between them. Veronica would be forever grateful for it, even if she had come to regret to some degree the reasons the correspondence had been necessary.

 

“Thank you, for coming and for sitting with him,” was all she could think of to say “I do not know how I could have managed otherwise.”

 

“Of course, Veronica.” Glancing through the small amount of daylight visible from the hall window, Veronica realized she must have slept longer than she had anticipated.

 

“I suppose it is now my turn to urge you to get some rest. You could of course have my bed, or I could make up something if you would prefer.” Mrs. Fennel shook her head.

 

“No. That will not be necessary. I left Mrs. Flynt in charge of the keys. I should return to relieve her before she begins to demands a deduction in her rent for the service.” Mrs. Fennel gave Veronica a smell smile with the jest, but her eyes kept straying to the door, beyond which Mr. Mars lay.

 

“I need to dress,” Veronica said, understanding her desire to linger, just a bit, “and I should like to make some tea and toast, would you be able to sit with him a little while longer?” Mrs. Fennel replied with a relieved smile

 

“Of course.”

 

****

 

Mr. Mars had experienced been restlessness, or even seemed wakefulness at times during in the first few hours following his injuries, but first period of consciousness he remembered was more than a day later. He awoke, in his bed, to find himself the odd mixture of pained and foggy, and looked over to see Veronica curled up beside his bed in the room’s one backed chair. This period was short, however, and by the time Veronica herself awoke, he was once again asleep.

 

It was several hours later that the two would be able to converse and he would learn both the true extent of his injuries and the likely length of his recovery. It was then that he finally felt whatever small hope he may have still carried that Veronica would return to London or take another similar position extinguished.

 

It would be weeks, perhaps months before he would be recovered. There would be no chance that Veronica would leave before then; no chance for her to leave before become fully mired in Norton. More than that, however, this new understanding came was the way in which Veronica spoke of her plans for the months to come. In spite of her obvious anxiety over his health and worry over his opinion of her schemes, she showed more enthusiasm during their short conversation then he could remember in all of her letters or their short visits during her time away.

 

He also could not help but notice the way she spoke of his rescuer. The tone of her voice, the look on her face, the almost glow.

 

And so, when said rescuer approached his bedside several days later and asked him the question that Mr. Mars had been both anticipating, and dreading since Veronica has chosen to stay --- no, since Veronica had arrived back in Norton, he realized he could only in good conscience give one answer.

 

Although if any of his circle of friends were to press him ask to what had caused his seeming change of heart in the coming weeks, he would of course place the blame to the strength of the tincture the surgeon had given him.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has commented or given kudos. I hope you enjoyed this chapter --- but I would welcome any comments, or criticism. Thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucinda Mackenzie was born on a mid-December night to a farmer and his wife. It was a hard birth and it was feared for a time that Mrs. Mackenzie would not survive; it was determined that she was too weak to nurse. Not wishing to lose both his wife and child, Mr. Mackenzie put together what money he could and applied to a local woman to nurse the little girl. The woman, no more than a girl herself really, felt pity for her neighbour and agreed, though she had already been retained by the local squire to act as a wet nurse for his child when it arrived.

 

The squire’s wife gave birth to a daughter the next day. As was the custom of the day, and for that class, the little girl was quickly given over to the wet nurse, and for some short time afterwards, Lucinda and the girl, then known as Matilda St. Clair, were was raised and nursed alongside each other and all was, comparatively, well.

 

Sometime later, much to the happiness of all those who knew her, Mrs. Mackenzie recovered. Mr. Mackenzie subsequently returned to the wet nurse to get his daughter. However, due to a series of misadventures and misapprehension, Mr. Mackenzie left the cottage not with Lucinda, but with Miss Matilda St. Clair.

 

Whether out of ignorance or fear, the nurse afterwards presented Lucinda to Mrs. St. Clair as her own daughter during all her visits and when she reached the usual age for a child of such a family to be returned, she was taken in, in Matilda’s place

 

Lucinda grew up to become Miss Matilda St. Clair, a woman whose principal character was pride, vanity, conceit and artifice. Matilda grew up to become Lucinda Mackenzie, with none of those parties most intimately affected by the change aware of its occurrence. 

 

For the rest of the world (and the rest of this work) Lucinda was now Matilda and Matilda Lucinda. Or more precisely Matilda was now Miss Mackenzie, or often simply Mackenzie as she had grown a particular disliking for the Christian name which she had involuntarily assumed.

 

Miss Mackenzie was a bright, amiable and ambitious child. The Mackenzies however, could not afford to give their children a formal education and Miss Mackenzie did not have a wealthy patron to extend one to her or promote her in finding a position as Miss Mars had. Mrs. Mackenzie was, however, able teach all of the children in her care simple literacy and numeracy and Miss Mackenzie afterwards took it upon herself to improve her mind by extensive reading. She, in fact, read anything and everything she could whether it be novel, moral tract, broadside or newspaper. Her favourites were books on mathematics.

 

In spite of these improvements, she was, still, just a farmer’s daughter. As she did not wish to become a farmer’s wife and found herself equally ill-disposed to becoming a midwife, nurse, or alewife, she instead entered into service as a maid. She soon realized that she also did not wish to scrub and polish and scour for the rest of her days, or in fact, for any number of days if possible, and so she soon set herself to learning such skill as would enable her to gain a better position.

 

A lady’s maid or abigail may be required to tend to the personal needs (and whims) of her employer: dress, redress and undress her lady, mend and care for her wardrobe, arrange her hair, prepare her toilette, act as her personal agent and secretary and a dozen other such tasks. But she was also granted access to the library, travel with her lady and, is general given the first chance to have any no longer wanted clothes, either to wear or, more profitably, sell second hand. There was also a distinct absence of scouring.

 

And so, while she may have preferred numbers and figures, books and calculations, she learned fashion, hair-dressing and hats so that she may use the vanity of her supposed betters to her own advantage 

In time, through wit and skill, she placed herself into the position as lady’s maid to the wife of largest land holder in the area. True, Lady Kane was horrible, both as a person and as an employer, but she paid well to keep her servants and for her servants to keep her secrets. She also had more books than even Miss Mackenzie could read, and disposed of more gowns than Miss Mackenzie could easily sell. Miss Mackenzie viewed herself content.

 

And then Miss Veronica Mars had returned to Norton.

 

Miss Mackenzie could not say whether it was watching her friend struggle and choose to give up security in order to follow her interests, if it was simply that Miss Mars presence reminded Miss Mackenzie of who she had been and what she could do, if her presence reminded her of the true extent of Lady Kane’s horribleness or simply if it was because Miss Mars had given her another path to take by offering employment, but Miss Mackenzie was no longer content to be as she was.

So, she created a scheme which would allow her to help Miss Mars in her new endeavour, using both of her own set of skills and connections, new and old: she would act as Miss Mars Lady’s Maid.

 

In truth, Miss Mackenzie was not surprised by the Miss Mar’s response to the suggestion.

 

“No.” They were sitting in the Mars’ small sitting room, the usually confident Miss Mars look decidedly awkward in the chair across from her. She then quickly added, “I have no need of a lady’s maid."

 

“You stated that if I were to leave Lady Kane’s employ you would have a position for me, are you saying this is not true, now that I have given up my previous position?” Miss Mars shifted some in her seat.

 

“I had thought you would be my assistant, not my maid.” Miss Mackenzie sat back a moment studying Miss Mars before proceeding.

 

“And what precisely is an assistant to an attorney’s daughter? Is she more like a companion, or a lady’s maid?”

 

“A companion, I suppose.”

 

“So, I would receive room and board, but not wages.”

 

“Of course, you would receive wages.” Stated Miss Mars quickly.

 

“I would be betwixt and between then? Neither one or another? I would think as a former governess you would understand why this would undesirable.” Miss Mars look, if possible, even more embarrassed and uncomfortable. Miss Mackenzie pressed on.

 

“As the companion of an attorney’s daughter I might be allowed above stair and into drawing rooms and parlours alongside you, but I would also be considered the lowest person in those rooms and I would only be able to discover the same information you might. Most likely less. But if I were your lady’s maid ----the lady’s maid to the future mistress of Oakhollow Abbey---- I might need to remain below stairs, but I would be welcomed there as an upper servant and a chance for future employment. I would be able to speak to people you cannot, or which would not be honest in speaking to you and I could gain information you could not.” She paused a moment allowing this information to be fully understood, then continued,

 

”I am not saying that I should hold myself to the usual duties, or even that we form a the usual relationship between a mistress and maid. There certainly are some duties I would gladly give up if that is what you would prefer. But if I present myself as your lady’s maid, rather than as an assistant or a companion we could, I think, with our complimentary skills and spheres be and do far better as a pair than we would otherwise.” Veronica appeared to consider for a moment. Miss Mackenzie knew what her answer would be. Veronica had too much sense to decline, awkward or not.

 

Even so, while she was still in the midst of indecision and a small bit of guilt, Miss Mackenzie thought it might be the opportunity to add. 

 

“I will, of course want a portion of any rewards you receive to due my assistance, as well as be the first to receive any clothes or other or unclaimed items to sell, as it seems unlikely that I will receive the additional income from second hand clothes I would have at another position.”

 

Miss Mackenzie had also decided that, given that she was now again taking risks, she would take advantage of a less demanding employer to apply to work piece-work as human computer, but she suspected Miss Mars had enough to consider at the moment without being given this further information, and instead simply waited for the answer Miss Mackenzie knew she would receive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented or Kudoed!
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long to put up. I think I may have bitten off a bit too much in trying to write a holiday story in addition to this one. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know what you think, good or bad. I would love any comments or criticisms you might have. 
> 
>  
> 
> As I have previously said, I have over thought many of the characters backstories: I thought over various ways to bring Mac into this story. Whether I should include the baby switch or not given that this was an age where most women still gave birth at home (I even toyed with making her the disappointingly blue stocking spinster Miss St. Clair) and ultimately decided to try to find a way to keep it in. I then considered should go with regency equivalent of 1) what a woman from a "lower middle class" family who was as ambitious as Mac is portrayed might decide to up 2) what someone who in modern times is interested in computing might do or 3) someone who would functions the same way in this story as Mac does within canon. Ultimately I decided for a bit of 1 and a bigger bit of 3. 
> 
>  
> 
> I did through in little bit of 2 at the end. During the late 18th and early 19th century the British Nautical Almanac did have around 35 people who worked piece-work as human computers. Of those one, Mary Edwards, was a woman. Her daughter Eliza Edwards, also worked as a human computer until Nautical Almanac Office was formed in 1829. It would not be until the end of the 19th century when Edward Pickering realized he could pay women less that human computers would become increasingly women. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I hope people continue to enjoy the story, and that everyone had a Happy Holidays.


	7. Mr. Fennel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm more than a little embarrassed by how long its taken me to put up this chapter. Thank you for bearing with me. I hope you enjoy it.

Wallace Fennel may not have had the same sort of curiosity as his particular friend, Miss Mars, but he could claim a similar interest and intensity. While Miss Mars was curious about people, their secrets and the world their actions created, Wallace was curious about objects: how they worked, why they worked and how they could be made to work faster and better.

 

While there are, of course, a few exceptions, in our times, those who asks such questions and succeed in finding answers generally fall into three groups. The first are those of polite society, who have, through birth or chance, been given the education and the leisure to ponder nature as philosophy and who may, occasionally, in their studies, chance upon something of a more practical natural. The second are generally of a more middling sort, who join the military as artillerymen or engineers. The third, are those who work as tradesman. Who form and work with wood or metal, who see both what the material can do and what they have need of doing and endeavour to find a way to reconcile the two; Ironmongers, instrument makers, weavers, loom makers, millwrights, carpenters, pattern and cabinetmakers.

 

Whether it was the initial cause of Wallace’s curiosity, or simply a happy coincidence, Wallace’s father, Henry Fennel had been a shipwright by trade.

 

The elder Mr. Fennel had taught Wallace in all aspects of his business, from design to basic carpentry. He also attempted to satisfy his son’s interest by introducing him to other’s employed both in ship building and in working with wood throughout Wallace’s boyhood. By Mr. Fennel’s death Wallace had been a fair way through his apprenticeship. After his father’s death, however, Wallace had decided to come with his Mother and younger brother to Norton, not wanting to leave them start their new life in a strange place alone.

 

Norton was not a place for shipbuilders but it did have fisherman and sportsman, and with them fishing boats and yachts in need of repair and maintenance. Wallace hoped he might finish his apprenticeship with one of the few men who made this their trade or with one of the far more who worked in other kinds carpentry. None, however, were willing to take him on as an apprentice. Some found excuses, others did not even bother.

 

In time he took a position of as an assistant of sorts to Norton’s own self-described master of the art of self-defence, Mr. Parry. Wallace suspected that Mr. Parry’s reasoning in offering him the position was just as flawed as the other’s had been in rejecting him, but he took the position anyhow: to bring in additional money for his mother and, to a lesser degree, because he had already come to understand that in living in Norton (particularly living in Norton as a friend of the Mars family) it would be agreeable to maintain a practical knowledge of the pugilistic arts. 

 

Somewhat to Wallace’s surprise he discovered he found both enjoyment and a talent, of sort, in the sport. Not as a boxer himself (although there were a fair number who might be able to testify that he was not without talent there as well) but in teaching and training others both in the pugilistic arts, and, even more so, in how to use such training to better themselves and their abilities in sport and activity in general.

 

While he did, eventually, finish his apprenticeship, Wallace decided afterwards to return to Norton, and open his own shop. It may not have been where he was born, but it had become his home. He reasoned that many advancements in shipbuilding had started with experiments with yachts for such patrons as are plentiful in a town such as Norton and he might there, someday, be able add to them. Until then, he was willing to repair and maintain, and to take on other projects, even those perhaps more suitable for a general carpenter or cabinet maker to keep his shop going and food on his table.

 

He quickly found, however, that it was better, for making ends meet, for mixing those men with the money and habits to want his services, and even, perhaps, for his own happiness to set the less urgent of these projects aside for several hours or even days a week, especially during those times when the flood of visitors to Norton was at a peak, and open a part of his shop as something between academy or club for the practice and training of in those arts of self-defence he had had a gift in teaching.

 

Most of his pupils were the young, idle, rich who hoped a few sessions with him would stave off the effects of their general dissipation. Or men of a more middling sort who thought learning a sport so fashionable with the fashionable would help to smooth their way up in society.

 

There were some men, however, who had come to him after an injury, or in other circumstances who he could claim with some pride as having helped in restoring their health, due to his effort. And there were, also, a few local men boys he had taken on to train in hopes of cultivating their talent --- and in the even more hopes that they might be use that talent to get out of Norton.

There were, also several local men who were more friend than pupil, with whom he sparred to keep sharp in the off season, rather than for a fee.

 

His current opponent, Wallace still had trouble placing as anything but part of the first of these many groups, but suspected he would soon have to begin treating him as if he was part of the last.

 

Lord Logan studied Wallace for a moment, then moved, attempting to make use of his longer reach to land a hit. Wallace, however, had the advantage in both speed and skill and was able not only to stop the blow but used the distraction to land his own, through by the point it reached its object it was little more than a tap.

 

That was how it had been since the start of the match: their blows tempered, their grapples slightly off, neither one, willing to risk Miss Mars ire by causing and injury or making a move that might be deemed unfriendly.

 

Wallace thought it clear Lord Logan had not come today, simply for a sparring match, but despite going on for long enough that, even though stripped to the waist, they were both sweaty and breathing hard, there had been any hint of it.

 

Finally, Wallace decided whatever purpose Lord Logan had had in coming to Wallace, would not be broached just by continuing on in this way, and decided to end the session, calling Lord Logan’s attention to the fact that they had long exceeded the agreed upon time.

 

Wallace poured himself water, and, after taking a drink, offered the cup to Lord Logan. He took it readily and the two sat for a few moments passing the cup between them before Lord Logan, finally, began to speak.

 

“I know you do not like me.”

 

“You did not give me the best of first impression.” Wallace reminded him. Lord Logan let out something between a sigh and a laugh.

 

“No, I suppose I did not. And I have not done much to change that impression in the time since, with you at least.”

 

“This is the first time you have come to my shop,” said nodding, “though it’s clear you keep in practice boxing, and I know that you sail.” Wallace agreed. Lord Logan let out another sad laugh.

 

“I suppose I might point out that you and I have very rarely been in Norton at the same time, over the last few years. Or that only a fool would subject himself to sparring with you after all that all that happened between myself and Miss Mars. But we both know that would only be an excuse.” He starred down at the cup, spinning it slowly between his thumb and fingers, thinking for a moment before continuing.

 

“The truth of it is, I did not make the effort I should have to know you when Miss Mars was in Norton and I avoided you, as I did anyone and anything that reminded me her after she left.”

 

“And why try now. You already have Mr. Mars blessing, you don’t need mine.”

 

“Strictly speaking, I didn’t need Mr. Mars blessing. Miss Mars is of age.” Lord Logan pointed out, “But, while I may not have always appreciated or even understood it in my youth, I know now how important you both are to Miss Mars --- and I do not want to ever put her in a position where she feels like she may have to choose.”

 

“Because you fear you would lose.” Wallace said, raising his brow. Lord Logan’s lip raised in amusement and he gave a small shrug.

 

They sat for a few moments more, now in a slightly more comfortable quiet.

 

“I cannot say I think Miss Mars will be happy with you.” Wallace finally told him, “The circles you move in, that she will have to move in, are not kind to woman of her birth or her spirit. “. Lord Logan flinched slightly beside him but did not object.

 

“But,” Wallace continued, “I also do not think she could be happy with anyone else. And she certainly has not been happy on her own these last few years.”

 

“Thank you?” Wallace nodded then gave slow smile.

 

“I suppose now would be the time for me to warn you against hurting her.”

 

“If I hurt Miss Mars, I would welcome any punishment you could deliver, but I suspect there will be little left to punish after Mr. Mars is done with me.”

 

“No, I don’t suppose there will.” Wallace’s smile grew slightly, “And I doubt there will be much left of me if Miss Mars were to discover gave you such a warning.” That drew a true laugh from Lord Logan. Wallace continued.

 

“But, as much as it surprising me to say so, I do not actually think you would hurt Miss Mars intentionally. Once perhaps, but not now.”

 

“Thank you.” Lord Logan repeated, now more earnestly. Wallace held up hand to let him continue.

 

“I also know you do not have to mean to hurt her to do so.” Lord Logan gave a stiff nod and seem as if to brace himself.

 

“In truth, I suspect the thing that would hurt her the most would be for you to get hurt yourself. So, though I suspect that I may as well be telling a fish not to swim, I am still going ask you: don’t do anything foolish or reckless when you’re over there.”

 

“I don’t intend to.” Lord Logan answered. Wallace let out short huff. “But I will admit your judgement of my character, in your fish analogy may well be true.” Lord Logan conceded. Now Wallace gave a short laugh. “I will promise, however, to do my best.”

 

“I suppose that will have to be enough. Now,” Wallace said, standing up “Would you want to try this again,” he nodded toward the area cleared away for sparring, “And actually put some effort into it this time?” Lord Logan appeared to contemplate this for a moment before speaking.

 

“I would, but I will be meeting with Miss Mars in a short time, and I have only just given my word I would try my best not to do anything foolish or reckless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who had kudoed or commented! I hope everyone continues to enjoy this story. I love to receive any comment, good or bad you may have. 
> 
> The occupations that contributed to engineering listed in this chapter were pulled from list of 18th century engineers. 
> 
> Basketball as we know it was invented in 1891 in Massachusetts. 
> 
> During the late Georgian era there were team sports (such as cricket and rugby) but many of the most popular "professional" sports were boxing (or pugilism), pedestrianism (or competitive race walking) and, of course, horse racing. 
> 
> Boxing was a sport that had gained popularity among the upper classes both as a spectator sport and to learn. "Gentleman" John Jackson's Bond Street School of Arms opened in the 1790s next to Angelo's fencing school was incredibly popular. 
> 
> Thank you again, for reading!


	8. Day Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to apologize (again) for how long this has taken to get posted. Thank you for still reading! 
> 
> During the beginning section of this fic, there's a discussion of satirical prints. If you want to better visualize what is being discussed, there are collections of such prints on the British Library and Library of Congress websites (the later is organized by subject) or you can simply do a search for 18th Century or Georgian prints or caricatures. An example of a NSFW print that could sometimes be produced about society woman embroiled in a scandal can also be found on Seymour Fleming (Lady Worsley) 's wikipedia page.

Once her father was awake and the threat of fever had greatly reduced, Logan, the Fennels and most recently Miss Mackenzie had begun to encourage her to take a few hours of fresh air and exercise each day away from the house. They had finally succeeded in part because Veronica had been forced to accept how long her father’s recover would likely be, and in part because she was quickly understanding how short a time she had before Logan was to leave.

 

 

Today’s scheme had begun as a walk through Norton and along the Promenade, but they had found themselves instead winding upwards through some of the shops of Norton, before finally pausing at a bookseller and print shop which had not existed prior to her leaving, and had remained unvisited thus far since her return.

 

 

The prints in the windows were the same as might be found in any fashionable watering hole, or, indeed, in London itself. Inside however, secreted away towards the back, was a wall of prints by what Veronica could only assume was a local (and unfortunately prolific) artist. The only hint of the artists identity was the stamp in the corner of a small hat, which seemed to represent that of a ship’s captain, worn atop a pair of scissors.

 

 

Slightly higher than her sightline was a print featuring what seemed to be a small graveyard, populated with graves for those she knew all too well. Lady Lillias, the Baroness Logan, Ser Aaron and the Comtesse de Ville all had their place. A final freshly open grave stood beside them labelled only with a question mark. Standing in front of the scene was what could only be caricature of Lord Logan, holding a shovel and wearing a smirk. Whether the horns he was also wearing were meant to represent his sinful nature or his cuckolded one was left up to the viewer.

 

 

The print Veronica was currently glaring out was slightly newer, and featured three men, labelled as justice, public opinion and human decency respectively. They appeared to be attempted to apprehend a figure, in a uniform with rather large ears; another representation of Logan. He, however, was quite literally cowering behind the skirts of a figure, one which seemed less a woman than a manifestation of governess-ness. One which, while labelled as being the womanhood of Norton, she suspected was meant to represent herself.

 

 

“Not the best likeness to be sure. But surprisingly not the worst either.”

 

 

Veronica turned at the voice, towards Logan. He gave her a rueful smile, then reached beyond her, pointing to yet another print.

 

 

“I far prefer this one.”

 

 

This print in question centred on the local magistrate, who was bound with ribbons labelled as, justice (again), as well as common sense and truth. He was tied in such a manner that his posterior was both turned upward and exposed, presumably so that more damaged might be inflicted, when swatted by a parasol held aloft and at the ready by a more flattering (and if she might be allowed more accurate) caricature of herself.

 

 

“In fact, I think that might do quite well above our mantle,” Logan made a gesture, as if to alert the shopkeeper to his interest which he quickly, and wisely aborted at seeing Veronica’s countenance.

 

 

“You’re right of course, it isn’t really appropriate for the mantel. Perhaps you would prefer the portrait of Lady Kane,” This print depicted what seems to be some sort of dragon crafted entirely of ice, whose face in spite of the implied scales and snout included several very familiar, distinguishing features. It was not so much breathing fire as excreting ice. And not from its mouth.

 

 

“It is rather refreshing to see her in her native form.“ He said, through his voice had shifted slightly and she suspected he too must have now seen the bottom of the print. The she-dragon was wrapped protectively around a pile of treasure while both its eggs had slipped unnoticed out of its nest.  One appeared to have cracked from the fall, while the other had rolled away, on the verge of escaping out of the mouth of its cave. If the small note next to the print was to be believed, it was so popular it was already in its third printing.

 

 

“You cannot seriously wish to patronize an artist who depicted you with horn.” Veronica re-joined He turned to her with a smile that was now more watery rather than amused.

 

 

“Perhaps not.” He conceded, “But do I believe I can restrain myself from setting the wall on fire with my eyes as you seem to be attempted to do. This Captain Cut,” he gestured towards the wall in question, “May have drawn me with horns, but he has also refrained from drawing either you or Caroline in a state of undress.”.

 

 

“While I suppose I should be relieved you have chosen humour over violence, a lack of pornographic images seems a rather low bar to gain your gratitude.”

 

 

“And yet most don’t rise to it.” He said quietly, “Nearly every paper and print maker who reported Caroline’s death cared more about her infidelities and vices, than who murdered her. Those who did mention you, ignore your role in finding her killer, in favour of speculating over when you became my mistress and assumed your support was not due to a belief in my innocence, but in your own ability to take her place.”

 

 

Something which she feared would only increase once their engagement became known. But that was a worry for another day.

 

 

“I apologize. That was…” Logan began.

 

 

“Truthful.” Veronica quickly cut in. “I read the papers as well, and such stories are placed indiscriminately among the weather and the reports on war.”  Logan turned to her then, and offered her his arm.

 

 

“Perhaps we should continue in our original plan and take up our walk again?” She nodded and threaded her own arm through his in acceptance.

 

 

As they walked out, Logan raised his voice and told the shop owner he greatly enjoyed his print collection.

 

 

While initially vexed Veronica soon understood his purpose, and, she would admit, could not help but find the results amusing. The man, first looked pleasantly surprised at the commented. His countenance shifted from the false smile of a salesman, to a slightly more sincere pleasure at seeing a potential wealthy customer. It was then that the man appeared to apprehend who the speaker was, and what area what area of the store he had just emerged from. His features shifted again, to a rather comic expression of horror, even as he attempted to maintain his overly agreeable smile.

 

 

****

 

 

The wind along the Promenade gave Veronica ample excuse to curled herself more into deeply into Logan’s side, allowing his form to shield and warm her far better and then her serviceable grey pelisse could hope to. She was thus comfortably situated when Logan presented his next scheme.

 

 

 I thought perhaps tomorrow we could go for a ride.” Logan said.

 

 

“Because you fear I will succeed in setting fire to the next print shop we wander into on foot?”

 

 

“Because I remembered how much you enjoyed the rides we all took together when we were younger.”

 

 

Veronica too remembered many a happy hour riding across the Reed Hall estate with Lady Lillias and, when they were at home, with her brother and Logan.

 

 

Lady Lillias had insisted that, as her companion, Veronica must accompany her in all her lessons, including those in horsemanship.

 

 

But during these lessons, and their later rides, Veronica had only ever borrowed a horse, not owned one. The Mars family had never had the income to keep a horse, even when they had been in favour with Lord Kane and they certainly had not after her father had lost his position. In the years since, as teacher and as governess, she neither had nor would have expected to have provisions made for her to ride.

 

 

“I have not ridden in years.” She had to confess. Logan gave her a soft smile.

 

 

“Then we must go. If only to correct that.” Logan’s lip turned upward slightly. “If you are concerned, I promise, I will do my utmost to ensure you will find any ride we take safe, comfortable and enjoyable. Your mount is good natured and is exactly calculated to carry a woman.” 

 

 

“While I am gratified to have such reassurances,” She told him, shaking her head slightly. “They are unnecessary. You do not need to convince me. I simply thought I should offer you a warning that I may not be the horsewoman you remember.”

 

 

“I am more than willing to aid you in regaining your seat.”

 

 

“An effort I can only hope will prove both fruitful and enjoyable to us both. I am rather curious, however, as to who’s horse, I shall be riding.”

 

 

“Mine.” He said simply. Veronica raised her brow.

 

 

“While you may own the horse, I doubt any creature specifically calculated to carry a woman would be comfortable with you upon its back. And I know for certain you do not know how to ride a lady’s saddle.” The statement, as intended, elicited a fond smile.

 

 

“Lady Lillias always did know how to choose a wager.” After a moment he turned back to her and the question. “You realize you question is not one with a safe answer.”

 

 

“Aside from the honest one.” Veronica countered.

 

 

“Perhaps. But if, for example, I were to say that I purchased the horse for you, I would be presumptuous in selecting her without consulting with you first. I might even be considered improprietous in doing so given how recent our engagement. But, if I were to say I purchased her for another woman, you might feel,” He paused as if searching for the appropriate word.

 

 

“Jealous?” Veronica supplied.

 

 

“Awkward,” He replied.

 

 

“I am aware you had other women in your life. You were rather publicly engaged.” She reminded him.

 

 

“And I am grateful for such understanding.” He said earnestly, then raised his voice again then, infusing it with amusement once more. “I am, however, slightly embarrassed to say that it is a third, even less flattering motive, that is perhaps the most truthful: I purchased her without a rider in mind.”

 

 

“So, I _have_ attached myself to a spendthrift.” Veronica said, matching his tone. Once she had spoken, however, she could not help but worry, she might have been mistaken in doing so. For while she now meant it only in jest, it was a criticism that she had made in earnest during their last period of attachment.

 

 

“I’m afraid it is even worse,” Logan countered, thankfully seeming to have taken the statement in the manner it was meant, “You have attached yourself to a sentimentalist.” Veronica fought and failed to make a face at _that_

 

 

“As distressing as that may be, I fail to understand the connection.”

 

 

“First you must understand that horses are generally poor sailors.”

 

 

“Which is a pity as otherwise you might be able to two of your favourite past times at once.”

 

 

“Why does everything think me such a sailor? You know, I sold Sir Aaron’s yacht as soon as I had come of age.”

 

 

“Because you of your dislike for Sir Aaron, not sailing. I have no doubt you had thought to purchase another yacht of your own, and would have already if all this recent riding around swinging swords at the French hadn’t distracted you.”

 

 

And he had also had, for a time, an intended who would have found little enjoyment yachts.

 

 

 “However, unless the mare in question is unusually seaworthy, and you purchased her to breed, it does seem as if we have drifted rather off course.” Logan gestured, asking to be allowed to continue and she nodded.

 

 

“As I stated, horse can be poor sailors. It is difficult to transport them by sea. When they are brought on a voyage, they must be placed in a sling which requires the horses be touched in places they disagree with being touched, by a sailor who is placed during the course of the process in the direct path of those extremities most able to protest such treatment. It is slow, and more than a bit dangerous work. I know of at least one officer from the Sixteenth whose horse kicked a sailor overboard during the ordeal.  They were fortunately in that they were not yet in the water. The man was injured but was never in danger of drowning. And Bob did not suffer any lasting harm.”

 

 

“Bob the sailor…

 

 

“Bob the horse.”

 

 

She made another face, and he continued.

 

 

“Loading the horses of an entire cavalry regiment onto ships, therefore takes a great deal of time as well as great deal of space. As you may imagine, when attempting to load as many men as possible onto ships, while being pressed by the enemy, the number of horses that may be brought is very limited. As we were leaving Corunna, many of the officers were able to take their horses, but most of the men were not.”

 

 

Logan seemed for a moment to drift into an unpleasant memory. Veronica could guess at the cause. While he did not say as much, she knew horse were too valuable to an army to be allowed to fall into French hands, any more than cannon were.  He soon shook the memory off, however, and continued.

 

 

“My own horse was of such intelligence that it seemed to have anticipated the plight of his brothers in arms and had managed to free itself and disappear the night before our embarkation.”

 

 

“Of course, it did.” Veronica said, knowing amusement tinging in her voice.

 

 

“And while I admired Hal’s ingenuity and gallantry, his actions did mean I needed to purchase I new mount once I returned to England.”

 

 

Calvary officers, unlike the Calvary men of the other ranks, were responsible for purchasing their own war horses, just as they were their uniforms and other kit.  It was a system that among others, often left officers who, unlike Logan, relied upon their salary for their sole income, in debt. Or perhaps more accurately often left tailors, shopkeepers and horse sellers in want, for gentleman generally placed debts to tradesman behind debts of honours or any other financial obligations.

 

 

 “I visited the man from whom I had purchased Hal, and it was from him I purchased Mouth.” Logan continued.

 

 

“Mouth?” Logan held up his finger asking her hold back her curiosity on that point just a bit longer.

 

 

“But while I was there, he mentioned he had a mare who was descended from one of my mother’s favourites. I am not sure if you remember Melusine, but she was a wonderful horse, exceptional well suited for a woman rider. My mother received and rejected several offers to purchase either her or for one of her foals. But while she did not sell any, she, did give several as gifts to friends, particularly those who lived near to the Abbey.”

 

 

“I do remember her, actually. I believe the horse I most often barrowed from the Kane’s was one of her foals.”

 

 

“La Baronesse! I had quite forgotten.” Logan said with a hint of smirk which hinted at quite the opposite.

 

 

While the Baroness Logan couldn’t have known it at the time of the granting, her gift was the reason Veronica had had a horse of any quality to ride when she was accompanying Lady Lillias. Lady Lillias may have been able to win her point that as her companion Veronica should accompany her on rides, but Veronica had no doubt that Lady Kane would have had Veronica continue to ride the same increasingly elderly pony long after Lady Lillias had moved onto a horse, and found an even more disagreeable mount once it had passed away had it not been for La Baronesse.

 

 

To Lady Kane, the only horse worse than one that was on its last legs, was one gifted by the woman who Lady Kane called friend in public and other, far less politeness terms in private. Friendship among their set, or at least with Lady Kane, was often hard to distinguish from rivalry, jealousy and animosity.

 

 

“I suspect Lady Kane thought it some sort of slight, naming a horse after my mother.” Logan continued, seeming to voice her own thoughts.

 

 

“Not to mention having it ridden, only by the stewards’ daughter.” Veronica added.

 

 

“Well, if that were the case, Lady Kane greatly misjudged. My mother _liked_ you. And she loved that horse.” He told her. “Once I had seen the mare, I knew that he was speaking the truth, I could not help but want to purchase her as well. Even though I could not ride her. I did attempt to justify her purchase, reasoning that my goddaughter, Little Kat, might use her if she came to visit, but in truth, I simply wanted to bring that small piece of Melusine home once again.”

 

 

“Sentimental in deed. But I think it can be forgiven.” Veronica told him, with an affectionate smile. “Now if I might ask one more question?” He gestured for her to continue.

 

 

“Mouth?” The corner of Logan’s own mouth turned up even more.

 

 

“He is a handsome horse, and in the short time I have had him, he has proven to be obedient, and well suited to training and drills. But he always seems to look at me, as if had he the capacity for speech, he would be mocking me.”

 

 

“So, an athletic, well-bred military man prone to impertinence? It seems Lord Logan, you mean to mount yourself.”

 

 

To Veronica’s surprise, rather than simply amusement (or, more truthfully in addition to amusement) Logan appeared slightly uncomfortable at her jibe. She even thought she may have seen a fleeting blush. The cause of this uncharacteristic colouring, was soon revealed, when Logan leaned slightly to speak to her.

 

 

“I am afraid I must object to the comparison.”

 

 

“So, you do find it a slight to be likened to horse.”

 

 

“Not to a horse, no. However, there appears to be a slight misapprehension in your analogy that, given our current attachment, I think especially important to correct.”

 

 

“And what would that be?”

 

 

“Cavalry _horses_ are gelded.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who had kudoed or commented!
> 
> I love and appreciate any kind of comment or critique you could give me!
> 
> First, I want to apologize if I made any mistakes when discussing riding or horses --- I tried to do my research but that's not always enough. 
> 
>  
> 
> And while we're talking about research...
> 
> During the Georgian Era Satirical prints were, something like SNL, TMZ and the tabloids all rolled up into one. 
> 
> Its estimated that roughly 20,000 prints were produced between 1770 and 1830 --- that's roughly 6 and half a week. 
> 
> The impetus for the first part of this chapter was one particular Gillray print, featuring just the feet of the Duke and Duchess of York while they were, well, doing the royal duty. It reminded me of the video Vinny sold of Logan and Carrie. 
> 
> Bob was a real horse, however as the incident described occurred on April 1, 1809, it is unlikely Logan could have heard about it at the time of this chapter --- but I just couldn't resist putting in something about Bob the horse. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you again.


	9. Eli Navarro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give an incredibly big thank you to AmyPC for acting as my beta on this chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> Along with her other beta duties, she has pointed out to me that in some places I’ve been confusing when discussing the characters backstory or names. Sometimes this stuff has been rattling around in my head for so long or was part of an early draft of a previous chapter and I forgot it was not part of the final draft or was never explained in the fic itself. 
> 
>  
> 
> I am working on a chapter that expands (and expands and expands) on Lord Logan’s family history, but until that is finished and posted, it might be helpful to know:
> 
>  
> 
> In this story Lord Logan’s mother was born a Baron’s daughter (The Honourable Elinor Logan-Leister) she then married Sir Aaron Echolls (a knight) and therefore became known as Lady Echolls. When her father died, she inherited his title becoming Baroness Logan (or Lady Logan) and (by his will) added Logan-Leister back to her last name, and to that of her son.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope that clarifies thing rather than making them more confusing?
> 
>  
> 
> Another thing that might be helpful to know: an anker is both a measure of volume for wine or spirits as well as a kind of barrel used by smugglers to carry to carry wine and spirits. The barrels were made with flattened sides to make them easier to carry. 
> 
>  
> 
> Some of this chapter is vaguely inspired by John Buck a real smuggler and blacksmith in Norwich during the 18th century who did business with the famous diarist (at least among Georgian historians) Parson James Woodforde.

“It seems Miss Mars is to marry Lord Logan.”

 

 

Jeanne made the declaration as they were sitting down to dinner, prompting Eli Navarro to look up from his plate, toward his wife.

 

 

She stared right back, studying him. Someone else might have thought she was looking for signs of jealousy, but Jeanne, he hoped, knew him too well for that.

 

 

Eli had known Miss Mars since they were both sixteen. He had known _of_ her before that, of course. How could he not when her father was the land steward of the neighbouring estate. And when she was the particular friend and companion to Lady Lillias.

 

 

He also knew there had been, and perhaps still was, talk about them. And while he couldn’t say there had _never_ been time when he was bit sweet on her, _that_ hadn’t been what they were about.

 

 

They had been --- not partners. They had never been as regular with their business as that. Allies, perhaps? It had certainly felt like they were at war sometimes --- usually against Lord Logan’s sort. She had helped Eli out of trouble more than a few times, and in return he had done the same for her. He thought of her as someone he could trust and, he hoped, she did the same for him.

 

 

He had known Lord Logan far longer.

 

 

Eli’s mother had been Lord Logan’s wet-nurse. He’d lived with them, eaten their food (well _his_ food) and fallen asleep to the same songs as him for almost two years before being handed back screaming and wailing to his mother. And then been handed over to another one of Eli’s family to act as his dry-nurse.

 

 

His memory of the actual events were a bit weak, he admits. He was only a few months older than the boy in question at the time. But then, he’d wager the Lord Logan didn’t think on it much either. He certainly didn’t act as if he did.

 

 

Eli’s grandmother had made both arrangements.

 

 

She had joined the household of the first Lady Echolls long before she _was_ the first Lady Echolls. Mrs. Navarro had not only kept her position through the death of that lady’s first husband and her second marriage, her death and Sir Aaron’s second marriage and through the uniting of the Echolls and Logan-Leister households when the second Lady Echolls became the Baroness Logan. All in spite of becoming a wife and a mother --- two conditions which generally meant the end of a woman’s career in service.

 

 

And she hadn’t just kept a position.  She had climbed up the ranks below stairs, to reach the highest position a woman in service could hope for: not simply a housekeeper, but one to an old, titled family with a large estate.

 

 

And as the housekeeper at the Abbey, she had a great deal of say in the hiring and dismissal of the rest of the servants, particularly the female ones. More than would ordinarily be expected in fact, as the Baroness Logan was not often present. Even when she was in residence.

 

 

His grandmother might be accused, he supposed, of favouring the hiring of those, who, like her, had found themselves without family or friends in a foreign land. Particularly those who shared her language or her faith. Of course, between those coming from Ireland and, later, France there was a fair few more of her faith .

 

 

When there is talk of French émigré, it is mostly of the rich, the noble or the royal fleeing across the channel from the guillotine. And some of those nobles had found themselves serving their English brothers, becoming dancing masters, French tutors, and Lady’s Maids, paid companions, milliners and dressmakers in order to survive.

 

 

But far more servants, chefs, tradesman and clergy, widows, soldiers and nuns fled, making their way to England to escape the war and the Terror, because of their conscious or simply because they could no longer make a living in France. All in need of a position.

 

 

His grandmother had tried to do well by her family as well, of course. Finding them positions with the Echolls, and, later Logan-Leister-Echolls when possible, and helping to place them in neighbouring households when not.

 

But, slowly, they had drifted away.  She had lost her husband to illness and most of her children to new positions, marriage, following the drum, transportation and the grave. By the time Sir Aaron had taken possession of the Abbey, the only one who joined her in Norton was her youngest, her little Angel. Not so little anymore, after having been apprenticed as a blacksmith.

 

 

And how had Sir Aaron rewarded these years of service and sacrifice? At the time of her life when she should have been looking forward to superannuation with an annuity, Sir Aaron had dismissed Mrs. Navarro without a character. Not for anything she had done, but because of the thoughtlessness of one of Eli’s cousins.

 

 

When Eli’s Uncle had opened his own shop, he had done so near Norton to be near to his mother. It had not taken long, though, before he had learned there were other advantages to be had in living in the sea-side town.

 

 

Like many men up and down the coast, Eli’s uncle began to add to his income through free-trading.

 

 

Smuggling.

 

 

Eli has heard it said that more of the tea and brandy drunk in England was brought in by smugglers than by legal means . Given the number to ankers he’s seen floated and hid along Norton’s coast, he wouldn’t disagree.

 

 

The wars had made such operations more dangerous, with militia and regulars, beacons and naval ship stationed all along the coast, in preparation for an invasion. But the wars had also made it more profitable. Taxes were raised so high, smuggled goods could be sold at half the cost, and still make a handsome profit.  Others could _only_ be gotten from less than legal means, due to Napoleon’s attempts to starve Britain out through his Continent System.

 

 

With so much money to be made --- and so much risk, it wasn’t a family business.  It was the towns, with a fair number of the labourers and tradesmen, all a part of it. Eli and his cousins were all brought in to help his uncle, from the time they were children, 

 

 

Something in this work must have recommended Eli to his uncle, for in time, Angel decided to take him on as his apprentice, though his cousin was older.

 

 

Not that he had been left to his own devices, either. Their grandmother had arranged for him to get a position at the Abbey.

 

 

It worked out well enough. For a few years. Then his cousin got it into his head to start stealing bank notes and plate from Sir Aaron to impress some gently bred girl who had thrown him off the moment he was in need.

 

 

Now, perhaps Eli should understand, given his own prior attachment to Lady Lillias. But he thinks few would argue with the notion that Lady Lillias was a fair bit more worthy of his affection than Miss Ford had ever been his cousin’s. And even at his worst, Eli would never have done something so stupid as to put their grandmother, their whole family, in danger for Lady Lillias.

 

 

His cousin had been found out, of course.

 

 

He’d even been fool enough to have kept some of the plate in his own room. But he hadn’t been caught. No.

 

 

He had run. Stolen a horse and slipped away.

 

 

While their grandmother had been dismissed.

 

 

Her health failed not long after. The shame, and worry were too much for her.

 

 

Later, long after she passed away, he’d been found at the bottom of some old quarry a few days ride from Norton, no more than a skeleton by then, still wearing the Echolls livery he had run in. His stolen horse, it seemed, had thrown him.

 

 

Time passed. Eli had gone from an apprentice to journeyman and finally to master, returning to Norton to open his own shop.

 

 

His uncle had decided to superannuate himself, at least from his shop, a few years before the term really seemed to apply.

 

 

Eli had met Jeanne and, on the day he had asked her to be his wife, he had made her a promise not to deal in smuggling again. It was a promise he had kept, and a promised he felt all the more right the day their daughter was born.

 

 

The others had moved on as well, he supposed.

 

 

Lord Logan had gone off and joined the army --- or rather become an officer as Lord knows being an Officer is far different than being among the other ranks.

 

 

Miss Mars had left Norton, her father and their war behind to become a governess.

 

 

 

And then she came back.

 

 

And, now, it seemed Miss Mars --- one of the few outside his family he truly trusted ---had chosen to marry Lord Logan. The man who had nursed next to him as an infant but treated him with contempt as a youth. Who Lady Lillias had run back to time and again. Whose family had ruined Eli’s, and then ruined themselves in return.

 

 

He gave his wife a smile that was only slightly strained.

 

 

“I wish them every happiness.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented or Kudoed. I really appreciate any comments you may have, bad or good.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you again to AmyPC for her help.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	10. A Ride

It is expected that a gentleman should know how to ride and ride well. For a cavalry officer this goes beyond an expectation to a necessity.

 

 

Logan’s enjoyment and, he dares say, skill for riding, went beyond these. There had been a time when the only thing which might induce him to rise him from his bed in the early morning was the thought of a long morning ride. The sensation of moving as one with the horse. The skill and exhilaration at keeping one’s seat during a difficult jump. The mixture of peace and animation accompanying of a gallop across the downs. The sense of freedom, however illusory. During his darker moments, prior to Sir Aaron’s death, that Logan had sometimes dreamed of simply choosing a direction and riding until either he or his horse gave out.

 

 

He did want to share this with Veronica.

 

 

He did remember fondly his rides with Veronica and the Kanes in their childhood and youth. He remembered how greatly she had enjoyed these rides. And he had every intention of doing his utmost to make it a congenial and satisfying for her.

 

 

 

 

But he also may not have been entirely frank about his motives for asking Veronica to join him on a ride; he had hopes that their ride today might advance schemes beyond present enjoyment.

 

 

He wished to familiarise Veronica with his horses and the men who cared for them.  He hoped that doing so would lead her to be more inclined to take the offer of their use while he was gone.

 

 

He knew the coming months or more would be difficult for Veronica and her father, in a great deal of ways. It pained him to know he could not be here, when she would need him. He also knew that the one way he could most assist them, with a direct gift, would never be accepted.

 

 

He was attempting to find smaller, more subtle ways offer help. But given Mr. Mars’ likely limitation over the coming months, small and subtle would not do in this. He could only hope to ease her scruples in whatever ways he could.

 

 

He also, in truth, had a less selfless and more farsighted motives for his offer.

 

 

There was a long tradition in the British Army of wives and families coming with their men to their post and on campaign. It was not always wise. He had, in fact, d seen all too well how unwise it could be, during the retreat to Corunna. It was also not as common in the cavalry.

 

 

But given Veronica’s particular skills, Logan hoped that if she could prove herself an able horsewoman, then if he _was_ to go on campaign again, after they had been married, she might be able to come with him.

 

 

That she might be willing to come with him.

 

 

He knew it might very well be too much to ask. But, now, that he was quickly approaching their separations, he could not help but wish there was a way to avoid others in the future.

 

 

She certainly would not want for inquires.

 

 

****

 

 

During one of her early investigations for her father, Veronica had purchased a second hand) riding habit for use in a scheme. She had originally planned to resell the pieces. After wearing it, however, she came to the feel that darker colour and military like cut was more in line to her disposition and situation than the light, delicate walking dresses she retained from before Lady Lillias death. It had quickly become a favourite.

 

 

She had not brought it with her when she had left Norton. She should have reworked it, and brought it with her. But it had not felt right to bring something that had become so a part of who she was in Norton with her on her fresh start. Nor had she been able to sell something with so many memories. 

 

 

This now proved fortunate. Also fortunate was that, all those years ago, she had anticipated the habit might be useful in future schemes and rather than cut the skirt, she had found a way to take it up

 

 

Less fortunately, however, was that once, Veronica and Miss Mackenzie had retrieved the habit out of her trunk in the attic, and let down the skirt., Veronica had discovered that there were certain other areas of the gown in need of adjustment. This rushed tailoring was proved worth the effort, however, at the sight of Logan countenance when she answers the door.

 

 

“That,” He said with a smile “is a very fetching frock.”

 

 

She gave him a smile and took his hand.

 

 

Once they had exited toward the larger street, however, she realized something was amiss and looked towards her companion with mostly affected suspicion.

 

 

“Logan, where are the horses?”

 

 

****

 

 

The horses, it seemed were still at their mews. Veronica had assumed that Logan had been stabling his horses with the Castleblanche’s, just as he himself was staying at their house. Once Logan revealed he had himself been renting a mews, for as long he had been letting out the Abbey, she recognized her mistake. Of course, Logan would have secured a place for the keeping of his horses and carriages, even as he himself never still remained unsettle. 

 

 

Logan first gave her a brief tour of the stable, showing her his equipage and carriage horses, and a meeting with his coachman and groom, before he finally bringing her to stalls where their respective horses are already tacked and ready.

 

 

“Oh.” Veronica could not keep herself from cooing, “She’s beautiful.” A few feet away Mouth whinnied, as if in agreement. As Logan’s description had suggested, the horse that Logan had _not_ bought for her was small, but perfectly proportioned. Veronica thought she could even see something of a likely between her and La Baronesse, in spite of her coat being far darker, nearly black. Reaching out, Veronica stroked the animal before turning to look towards Logan.

 

 

“We spoke on why you named your horse Mouth, but I realized I do not know her name.” Logan looked slightly abashed.

 

 

“I was told her previous owner called her The Black Pony.” Veronica huffed.

 

 

“She’s a horse.”

 

 

“I believe it was due to her stature.” At this Veronica let out an indignant gasp. She then turned back to the poor disparaged creature, being sure to give it a few more strokes of affection.

 

 

“Well, we’ll just have to give you a new name. won’t we.”

 

 

“I suppose we will.” Logan said with amusement. “What do you have in mind?”

 

 

“Athena?” Logan looked towards the horse doubtfully.

 

 

“That seems a touch martial for such an agreeable animal. Perhaps something sweeter, to match her temperament? Plum Pudding?”  Veronica gave Logan a mild glare. “Biscuit?”

 

 

“Joan of Arc?”

 

 

“You remember we’re at war with the French?” She supposed that did have something of a point.

 

 

“Boudicca? Wollstonecraft?” The corner of Logan’s mouth ticked upwards.

 

 

“That I might agree with. But I fear some might not acknowledge it as the honour it was meant. And others might make comments that caused you to hit them.”

 

 

“Only those that deserve it.” She pointed out.

 

 

“That was never in doubt.” He said, smiling. “Perhaps we should let her decide.” Logan suggested. Veronica raised her brow.

 

 

“And how could that be managed? Create separate piles of feed and see which one she eats first?”

 

 

“You would only hide carrots and apples under your pile.” Logan said fondly. “I was speaking a bit less literally. Go for a ride. Gain a better sense of her character. Then decide upon a name.”

 

 

“You think she’s so sweet I will be forced to choose a something more to your liking.”

 

 

“Perhaps. Of course, my nefarious scheme may also simply be that I wish to go for a ride with you today, and I know how long our discussion can be.” Logan said with a knowing smile. She made a face, but truth be told, she would prefer to continue their banter on their horses than in their stable, as well, and, so gave her assent.

 

 

In spite of the horse being already saddled, Logan proceeded to check each piece of the tack, manoeuvring his body, she realized, so that she might see what he was doing. During the process, Veronica glanced towards Logan’s coachmen and groom. To her surprise, rather than seeming vexed that their employer felt the need to so carefully check their work, the coachmen instead looked, almost, proud?

 

 

Once Logan was finished with her horse, he shifted over to his own and performed the same inspection, then returned to offer to her assist her into her saddle.

 

 

One of the disadvantages of a lady’s saddle was that it required help to mount and dismount. Often, gentleman viewed this action as a chance to show their strength. They would therefore use far too much force, and far too little precision, with the end result being that their efforts caused their lady to tumble over the horse, rather than helping her into the saddle.

 

 

Lady Lillias’ brother, during the sole time he had attempted to help Veronica mount again during one of their rides, had made such an error and it was only due to her own quick thinking and instincts --- and a providential haystack --- that she had escaped injury. 

 

 

Logan had no such difficulty. In spite of it being years since they had ridden together, he knew exactly how much assistance to give to allow her to mount and find her own seat perfectly. He even helped her to smooth her skirts and checked that her foot was securely in position before leaving her to mount himself.

 

 

True to his word, Logan stays right by her side and let her set their pace, though she was sure that both he and Mouth would have preferred one far quicker if they were on their own., It nevertheless took some time before she was comfortable enough again in her seat that she did not have to direction her whole attention on the act of riding itself and could enjoy the ride and the company.

 

 

In fact, it seemed as if no sooner had she truly begun to feel the pleasure she once had in riding, that she realized she needed to return. They both, with some reluctance, turned around and head back towards the mews.   They did, however, both agreed that more time was needed with Veronica’s mount before they could properly choose her name. They would simply have to go for another ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you (again) to anyone who comments or kudoes! I really appreciate any feedback you can give me --- good or bad. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. 
> 
> Wollstonecraft is a reference to Mary Wollstonecraft who, among other things wrote The Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792). She is now probably best known as the mother of Mary Shelley, writer of Frankenstein.


	11. Castleblanche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a special thank you [AmyPC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPC/works) for editing this chapter. 
> 
> This chapter started as simply light hearted but eventually melded with another chapter I had been planning into this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

The Castleblanches had not always been the Castleblanches, though one would be hard pressed to come to this understanding from studying their pages in the baronetcy.

 

 

They had begun as a lesser branch of an Italian Merchant family sent to England during the time of the Tudors to expand the family’s business. Or possibly simply to get them out of Milan. It was not entirely clear.

 

 

They had quickly found that while money could buy a great deal, it could not buy a place in higher levels of English society. Even the great deal of money they had made. They would always be merchants. More than that, they would always be _foreign_ merchants. They decided, therefore, to at least shed the most obvious mark of their origins and choose a new name.

 

 

And if one is already choosing a new name, surely it would be better to have one which meant castle, rather than house? And perhaps, include a bit of French? A French name was, after all, even more respectable to the English than an English one.

 

 

And so, they became the Castleblanches. A name which sounded very grand, but which made little sense, etymologically speaking.

 

 

In this it was, perhaps, more fitting in this way than their original name had ever been.

 

 

It also succeeded.

 

 

After a time.

 

 

The Castleblanches became even more wealthy. They used that wealth to send their children to the right schools and make the right friends. These children purchased land, and became gentleman. This, somewhat unfortunately, limited the of more making wealth, as a gentleman wouldn’t do anything as vulgar as working. But, in time they did flatter and gratify enough of those right kinds of friends to gain a baronetage.

 

 

True, it was not a peerage like a Barony. But, who really would want to have a seat in the house of lord? Quite dull one imagines.

 

 

By the time the current Sir Richard came of age the family’s origins had been suitably obscured, as to be almost forgotten, even by the family itself.

 

 

Sir Richard, like many gentlemen, however, had grown a habit of living beyond his means. Luckily, he had convinced a woman of great enough means to support even him to be his wife. Less luckily Miss Elizabeth Cassidy had relations with enough sense to ensure that when she died her wedding portion was placed in a trust for her children. And even more unluckily she did so after giving birth to only their second child.

 

 

The family of the second of Sir Richard’s wives, made no such provisions. They also had not provided quite as well, however, and Sir Richard was obliged to spend the last several years of her life living almost entirely on credit. Shortly after her death, the various schemes, frauds and lies which had kept his creditors at bay had crumbled and Sir Richard was forced to flee abroad.

 

 

How his sons took this flight, differed significantly.

 

 

The younger son, Mr. Cassidy Castleblanche, much like his name, had always seemed to favour his mother and her family. He was thus, in appearance at least, the more sensitive and more prudent of the two.

 

 

He had left school soon after his father’s fall, and convinced the trustee of his inheritance to make several investments on his behalf before taking out a rather large loan against the rest. Why anyone would be willing to lend money to a boy whose father had just fled due to unpaid debts, Veronica was unsure, but such a worry had proven unnecessary.

 

 

Mr. Cassidy Castleblanche had been aboard the _Shark_ along with Mrs. Haldeman’s father, Mr. Goodman, when it had been captured by French Privateers. An unfortunate spark in the ensuing fight had hit the ships supply of powder. All aboard were now presumed dead.

 

 

Veronica had heard it said that the older brother had been greatly affected by the younger’s death, but in her interactions with the elder since her return to Norton, she had seen little outward signs of such a change.

 

 

This Mr. Castleblanche had met Logan at school and quickly become his particular friend. Logan’s only particular friend, in fact, who had stayed so through childhood, youth and into manhood. This was however, the only thing that could be said to his credit.

 

 

Sir Richard’s older son, had been christened Richard after his father. Over their acquaintance, however, Veronica, had come to the conclusion that calling him _Richard_ Castleblanche, while required by propriety, was being far too generous.

 

His loyalty to Logan meant Veronica felt obliged to tolerate him. The rest of his character was such, however, that she could not quite bring herself to think of him as a _Richard_ Castleblanche. He was, in fact, nothing better than a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable _Dick_ Castleblanche, who, even with this friendship with Logan weighed in his favour, could still not be said to have done enough to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name. Even if Veronica could only call him so in her own thoughts.

 

 

Veronica had heard of Dick’s marriage even while she was still in London working as a governess. An elopement of a Baronet’s son was always sure to find its way to the papers. She could not help but be curious what kind of imprudence or distress could lead a woman to marry such a man. 

 

 

And so it was that, eventually, her unfortunate  curiosity overcame her good sense and led her to make just such an inquiry. Though not in quite those words of course.

 

 

She and Logan were, at the time taking a walk along the Promenade, her posterior having protested against a third day of riding.

 

 

Veronica had expected a humorous tale of Dick’s imprudence. And she had received just that, after a fashion. But not before hearing a far more sombre tale

 

 

“To understand the circumstances of Castleblanche’s marriage,” Logan told her hesitatingly, “You must first understand some of those which lead me to join the army.” He took a breath as if to brace himself. “And those are not…”

 

 

He paused again, and let out a long breath, before diving, it seemed, into this new topic as one would a cold bath. Quickly. And immersing oneself thoroughly.

 

 

“For a time, after you removed from Norton, I ran a bit wild.” Logan paused again, letting out small huff. “No. It was far more than that. All of those vices you had feared would ruin me, I indulged in and several more besides. Even Castleblanche began to worry.” Logan shook his head.

 

 

“Once, he returned to the townhouse we were sharing to discover I was barely breathing, having taken far too large a dose of whatever medicine I favoured at the time. If he hadn’t arrived when he did. If he hadn’t made the effort, he did to keeping me moving and awake until the doctors arrive.” He let out another huff, “If we were not part of a circle in which such incidents were common enough that he knew of a doctor well acquainted with them. I wouldn’t be alive.”

 

 

Veronica’s heart clenched.

 

 

Perhaps she might soon have to think of Mr. Castleblanche as something other than a Dick.

 

 

“One would think such an incident would lead to reform.” Logan continued with a rueful smile. “Instead I took advantage of the recent peace to continue my dissipations in France. I had had some thought that I might visit our friend in Italy.”

 

 

Logan gave her a sad smile at the mention of Lady Lillias’ brother.

 

 

“So, I was not in Paris when the peace failed. I could claim, I suppose, that this was why I had not anticipated what was to happen, but in truth I fear was far too distracted by my own _amusements_ to have taken notice regardless.”  He told her with no small amount of derision directed toward himself.

 

 

“You were far from alone in that.” Veronica reminded him.

 

 

“No. And if anyone else were to suggest that the other prisoners were to blame for their condition. I might well be tempted to call them out but,” He trailed off, and shook his head leaving that thought where it lay, and continuing.

 

 

“I was arrested, of course, along with the rest of those British men and women unfortunate enough to have found themselves still in France, once war was declared again. They asked for our names, our parents. There were men who refused as Englishman such a question. They… they did not fare well.” He paused again, thinking, “I cannot say whether it was simply a product of my contrary nature and dislike of authority, or some ill-conceived act of defiance. More likely it was just a reflection of how drunk I was at the time. But, whatever the reason, when asked to identify myself, I lied. I did not give my full name or title, or my true parents. Instead I stated I was simply Mr. Echolls.”

 

 

But the choice of appellation, surprised Veronica. The act did not. Impertinence had always been a part of Logan’s character. It was, in fact, why his choice of occupation had been so unforeseen.

 

 

"It was an imprudent decision.” Logan told her, "but one I suspect saved my life. Not,” he added quickly, “Because Napoleon would have taken any special interest in Lord Logan, but because had I given my full name I would undoubtedly been kept at Verdun.”

 

 

Verdun was one of the larger depots at which Napoleon kept British prisoners. It was also infamous. Not for its harshness, but as a den of dissipation. While those held captive there were, unquestionably prisoners, during the day those with money were encouraged to go into town and spend liberally. The strain, the ennui, the uncertainty and longing for home created by their situation led many to use this small bit of freedom to give into their vices.

 

 

“I don’t doubt I would have succeeded in my path towards self-destruction within the year in such a place.” Logan added quietly. Veronica’s heart clenched again.

 

 

“As it was, I instead I found myself placed among those of the more middling sorts. Providentially this included an old tutor of mine, Mr. Galloway.”

 

 

“Imprisonment proved sobering.” Logan, gave her a weighty look, “For reasons I still do not now understand, Mr. Galloway took it upon himself to nurse me through it.” Logan stopped again, and took another deep breath before continuing. “At first, when he spoke of escape, I suspect it was simply as a distraction. But gradually, as I began to regain my strength, it became something more serious.”

 

 

Logan looked down at her again, allowing himself more of a smile.

 

 

“The difficulty, you see, is not in escaping from the prison itself, but in escaping from France and its territories as a whole. We had already heard the rumours about Bitche, so we knew that if we were to attempt an escape, we could only have one chance at doing so. Galloway had been an officer in the Light Dragoons, before he had been a tutor, so did have some experience in avoiding capture and living off the land. _He_ was the reason we were eventually able to succeed.” Logan shook his head yet again. “How we did so does not signify.”

 

 

Veronica gave him a disbelieving glare.

 

 

“For the purposes of this story,” He added quickly, then assuring her “But will be detailed on in the future.”

 

 

“We did, at last, find ourselves back on English shores. And once we had ---I found myself changed. I needed there to be reason. A purpose for my life. Galloway had suggested I might do well as a cavalry officer, but I could not do so immediately and I was yet unsure if I wanted to.”

 

 

“To Castleblanche, however, I simply seemed not quite myself. I was withdrawn and, melancholy. In truth, I think he feared I might slip into old habits.” Logan gave her a dry smile “So, he tried, in his own way, to cheer me.””

 

 

“He asked me accompany him to a house party of an acquaintance. I agreed, thinking some time away from Norton might help me decide. But I proved a poor guest. I retired early most evenings. But by the third day I had come to understand I could not continue as I was. I told Castleblanche I planned to purchase a commission.” Logan grimaced slightly “It was not, perhaps, the most prudent time for such a declaration.”

 

 

“Several days later, I rose to discovered that Castleblanche, and Miss Melinda Button, had disappeared.” Logan turned to her and explained, “She was the young woman to whom Castleblanche had shown a particularity since we arrived. It took little investigation to apprehend that after I had gone to my room the night before, the two had achieve that most particular level of intoxication wherein making use of the nearness of the Scottish border, and its more liberal marriage law seems an excellent idea. Without being so drunk as make the action impossible.”

 

 

“I set out after the couple immediately, although, if you were to ask me whether I intended to stop the marriage or force Castleblanche to follow through now that the girl’s reputation was in danger, I could not tell you.” He snorted. “It would not have signified. By the time I had reached them, they had already forged their hymnal chains over one of Gretna Greene more infamous anvils and closeted themselves away in one of the better rooms at a local inn.” He shrugged.

 

 

“When the glow of their imprudent union began to fade a few days later, it was too late. I explained to Castleblanche that while Scotland’s divorce laws are, like marriage, more liberal, they were not quite as liberal as he might wish. It was probably for the best really, that marriage couldn’t be dissolved. Miss Horatia Castleblanche was born little more than nine months later.”

 

 

“That poor girl.” Veronica said. Logan gave her a wry smile.

 

 

“Thankfully Trafalgar has meant the name is more common.” He told her.

 

 

“That wasn’t what I meant.” She told him dryly.

 

 

“Perhaps, but,” Logan looked pensive a moment “While I would not say they were well suited, their marriage is successful. In its way.” She gave him a disbelieving look. “Castleblanche spends most of his time in London, or Norton. Or Bath or Brighton. Mrs. Castleblanche spends her time managing the family and its estates. And they are both content. Mostly.”

 

 

Veronica studied him a moment.

 

 

“You view her as friend.”

 

 

“Friend? No. But we have become allies of sorts in keeping Castleblanche from doing something either he or his children will regret. And I am quite fond of Miss Henrietta.”

 

 

“I thought Miss Castleblanche was of named Horatia.”

 

 

“I’m quite fond of her too. Miss Henrietta Button is Mrs. Castleblanche’s younger sister.” Logan said.

 

 

At the sight of Veronica’s countenance, he let out a small laugh.

 

 

“You needn’t give me such a look. The first time I met Miss Henrietta, she was eleven years old. It was a year after the elopement. By then I had purchased my commission, but my regiment was billeted near Norton and I had taken leave for a few hours to visit Castleblanche. Mrs. Castleblanche arrived unexpectedly with her sister.” Now it was Veronica who laughed.

 

 

“As would become something of their habit, the Castleblanche’s reunion began with heated discussion, then slowly became something equally loud but far more,” Logan grimace slightly “Congenial.”

 

 

Veronica made a face.

 

 

Logan gave a slightly embarrassed shrugged.

 

 

“I thought it best I escorted Miss Henrietta out of the house. We went to Amelia’s for ices, and played games along the Promenade. By the time we return husband and wife were once again taking no notice of each other and Miss Henrietta and I were friends.” He paused a moment. “And a few months later Miss Fanny was added to the nursery. I am told that Miss Kitty followed after a similar chance encounter. Unfortunately, at that time I was not there to shield Miss Henrietta.”

 

 

Veronica made another face.

 

 

The two continued their walk for a small time, each lost in their own thoughts.

 

 

Veronica had known, of Logan’s imprisonment. And she had, in truth feared for a time the rest.  But to hear them spoken of so plainly. To know.

 

 

Veronica curled herself closer to Logan, allowing the sensation of his warm, sturdy and very much alive body against hers calm her.

 

 

The unpleasant thoughts receded.

 

 

This allowed, however, another, less dire thought to come to the fore.

 

 

“Sir Richard’s main estate is entailed, is it not?” Veronica asked.

 

 

“As is the estate Castleblanche's uncle left to him once it was clear his brother was dead.”

 

 

“So, if Mr. Castleblanche dies without a son, then Mrs. Castleblanche will be left with very little.”

 

 

“Comparatively.” Logan nodded.

 

 

“And if she does provide him an heir?”

 

 

“Then I suppose she will have to place her trust that she can raise her son to be the sort of man who will provide for herself and his sisters. And trust that the man Castleblanche chooses as his son’s guardian will make sure they do not want in the meantime.”

 

 

“I presume you would be that man?” Veronica asked. They both shared a look.

 

 

“I can’t say for certain, but Castleblanche’s has made me and the godfather to his daughters.”

 

 

“All of his daughters?”

 

 

“All of them.” He answered dryly.

 

 

Veronica suddenly had a vision of a small herd of small Castleblanches running through the Abbey.

 

 

Dear Lord.  She was going to have to hope for _Dick’s_ continued health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank You to everyone who kudoed and commented! I appreciate any feedback (good or bad) and it makes my day when someone likes the story!
> 
> One line in this chapter was taken almost directly from Jane Austen’s Persuasion. I couldn’t read “He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could for him, by calling him "poor Richard," been nothing better than a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had never done anything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name, living or dead.” without trying to find a way to relate it to Dick Casablancas.
> 
>  
> 
> Somethings other things that might be helpful for this chapter:
> 
>  
> 
> A Baronetcy can best be described as a hereditary knighthood; it is not a peerage title and does not have the same privileges or give the holder a seat in the house of Lords. It does however mean he is addressed as Sir (first name last name) and his wife is Lady (last name) just as a knight would be.
> 
>  
> 
> Forging a hymnal chain was an actual phrased used by papers for when someone was married (especially if it involved scandal)
> 
>  
> 
> Being married over an anvil at Gretna Green was the regency equivalent of being married by a Elvis impersonator in Vegas. 
> 
>  
> 
> In 1753 England changed its marriage laws so that it was more or less impossible to marry without parental permission if you were under 21. These laws didn’t apply to Scotland, however, and so towns along the border became a destination for elopements. 
> 
>  
> 
> Gretna Green was especially infamous for such unions, and while any all that was needed to make a marriage legal was two witnesses for some reason being married by a blacksmith became the thing most associated with these rushed weddings.


	12. Logan-Leister-Echolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to send out an extra (extra) thank you to [AmyPC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPC/works) for her help with this chapter. She note only inspired it in the first place, but she willingly waded through editing it (twice) in order to help me hammer it down into something coherent. 
> 
> Thank you so much.

One of Logan’s Elizabethan ancestors had, in the fashion of that time, built a long gallery onto Oakhollow Abbey. Perhaps that same ancestor, perhaps another, had taken advantage of the space (and the pun) to create a gallery of family portraits. Each generation adding their own in turn.

 

 

Logan had spent a great deal of time in this gallery as a child. Not, he suspects, in a manner that its residents would have approved of. It was one of the largest, and certainly the longest, rooms at either Reed Hall or Oakhollow Abbey.

 

 

This made it the perfect place for a tired nurse, governess or tutor to send four agitated children, kept too long indoors by inclement weather in the hopes they would tire themselves out. Logan, Veronica, and the Kanes had run races, batted shuttlecocks and chased hoops back and forth in front of his ancestor’s portraits more often than he could count.

 

 

That is not to say he did not have some interest in knowing his family’s history. His mother’s family had held a great deal of interest. Particularly as the expression of such sentiments were so vexing to Sir Aaron. 

 

 

The ninth Baroness Logan had always been something of a favourite for Logan. In spite of her unfortunate absence of battles to otherwise recommend her to his school boy sensibilities.

 

 

Born Lady Wilhelmina Logan, she had been her father’s only surviving child.

 

 

Her sex had meant she could not inherit most of her father’s titles, or most of her father’s estate. Upon his death these were instead inherited by a cousin.

 

 

The Logan Barony, however, became hers.

 

 

It is one of the peculiarities of a Barony created by writ, that it is deemed to descend through the recipient’s heirs of the body. Not simply heirs male as most titles are.

 

 

It not only could pass through female line, but in fact, be vested in a woman herself.

 

 

Lady Wilhelmina became the Baroness Logan in her own right.

 

 

And it was from Lady Wilhelmina that Logan’s own line and title descended.

 

 

Most woman which such breeding and connections would look for a husband among the peerage. Gaining a courtesy title of Countess, or Marchioness or Duchess. If Lady Wilhelmina’s portrait was at all true to life, Logan had no doubt she had had a many such suitors.

 

 

But she was a Logan. And she had fallen in love.

 

 

That is not to say her choice of husbands was entirely unsuitable. True, the Leisters were a slightly more parvenu family. No writs of summons or Agincourt ancestors for them. But they had held enough fortune and favour by the time of the dissolution of the monasteries to gain Oakhollow Abbey. And the man Lady Wilhelmina had given her heart to was its heir.

 

 

In a previous generation, Lady Wilhelmina would have taken her husband’s name upon marriage and her own would become nothing more than a relic represented in the title she passed down. But Lady Wilhelmina and her love lived in a more civilized time. One in which the use of double names, particularly if the wife’s name held a great deal of history and esteem, was coming into fashion. Their marriage, therefore brought together not just Barony and Abbey but the Logan-Leister name as well.

 

 

From this union was produced three sons and three daughters.

 

 

Their oldest son became the eleventh Baron Logan when still a child, following Lady Wilhelmina’s death in child birth. This Lord Logan had then inherited the Abbey when he was barely twenty-one. Family legend stated that his father had never truly recovered from his wife’s death and only waited until their eldest was old enough to run his own affairs to allow himself to join her. If that was the case he should have waited longer. The eleventh Lord Logan died before reaching the age of forty without issue and heavily in debt.

 

 

Their youngest son, like many younger sons, went into the Church. And like many younger sons of prominent families he had received a living through his family connections. More than one in fact. The first had been, as one might expect, that of St. Cyprian. The second, was given to him by the very cousin who had inherited the estates and titles of Lady Wilhelmina’s father in her stead. It was on this second living that he had in fact lived. St. Cyprian, and its parishioners, were therefore left to be served by a series of ever changing curates. His grandson had, until recently, been Logan’s heir presumptive. This cousin had been, a great deal vexed by his lot in life, and especially but especially by the fact that Logan had given the living of St. Cyprian to Mr. Stone rather than to him. Logan had wondered, for a time, if he would have avoided a great deal of troubles, had it simply given the living to his cousin. But a consideration of the differing characters of both men had eventually led Logan to conclude that, giving such a man a living so close to Norton would likely have only increased and hastened Logan’s difficulties.

 

 

Logan’s grandfather, William Logan-Leister had been born Lady Wilhelmina and Mr. Logan-Leister’s second son.

 

 

And, like many a second son, he had followed both custom and necessity and become an officer in His Majesty’s army.

 

 

A sensible man in his position, with only an officer’s salary to live on, would not have contemplated marriage to any lady who was not herself an heiress with a marriage portion large enough to support his keep as well as hers.

 

 

But Logan’ grandfather had been both a Logan and a Leister.

 

 

And he had fallen in love.

 

 

The Morcars were an old, well-respected family. Miss Edith Morcar, however, came from an impoverished branch. The daughter of a younger son’s younger son, she had the reduced circumstances to match.

 

 

The two wedded.

 

 

Thankfully, the both were reasonably prudent and sensible with judgement and conduct, which, if they might be pardoned the youthful folly that had led them to marry for love, seemed unlikely to require indulgence afterwards. 

 

 

They could make due. Through careful economy and a small portion of luck they had every expectation of living reasonably within their means--- if not quite to the standards to which their youth had made them accustomed.

 

 

And lucky they were. To a certain way of thinking. Soon after their nuptials what would come to be known as the Seven Years War began.

 

William was sent to fight the French. And, as any officer and officer’s wife know, there is nothing that can bring quick promotion like war.

 

 

Unluckily for William he was instead wounded and taken prison. 

 

 

Edith, thankfully, had remained in England, being already pregnant with the oldest of Logan’s uncles.

 

 

By the time William had returned to England to recover, he found himself to not only have a son, but a title as well; his older brother had died in his absence, and he was now the twelfth Baron Logan.

 

 

He was also heavily in debt. The eleventh Duke had not been either prudent or economical. In spite of the very good income from the family estates debts had accrued that William was left to settle.

 

 

The new Lord and Lady Logan began at once.  With some modest improvements to the estates, a great deal of retrenchment and other careful expansions of income and reductions of expenses, they were sure, in time, they would not only be able to repay the debts but place some money away for their own children.

 

 

They were largely correct in this as well. But only due to circumstances Logan doubts they would have wished.

 

 

William Logan-Leister, twelfth Baron Logan and his Baroness had five living children. Of these, two sons and a daughter, survived childhood and upon reaching their youth seemed as likely as any to thrive.

 

 

Edmund Logan-Leister, their eldest, had, like his father, purchased a commission in the army. Joseph Logan-Leister, instead followed the example of Lady Logan’s brothers and joined the navy.

 

 

And then there was their daughter: Elinor Logan-Leister. Logan’s mother. Beautiful, lively and well bed, she began her first season with all expectations of making a brilliant match.

 

 

Then she had met Sir Aaron Echolls.

 

 

Sir Aaron had always maintained that his father had been a country squire. Logan himself tended to believe his paternal grandfather most likely to have a slightly humbler origin. Whatever the truth, this claim, along with Mr. Echolls’ good looks, keen sense of dress and, above all, ability to please and charm had proved enough to grant him entry into society in his youth. More than that, it had eventually allowed him to do what even the likes of Beau Brummel himself had found impossible: gain favour with both King George’s circle and that of his profligate eldest son.

 

 

From the King he had gained a knighthood. From the Prince he had gained something far dearer to a man of limited means and high ambition: an introduction to a widow of double fortune and no children. This widow soon became the first Lady Echolls. Her fortune, carefully earned in trade and prudently saved over the lifetimes of both her father and first husband became Sir Aaron’s.

 

 

Upon her death several years later, Sir Aaron quickly sought out a bride who was her opposite.  A girl who was young, pretty, and able to give him children. Most significantly, one who came from an old, respectable (and preferably titled) family. A union with which would, he hoped, wash away the stain of trade from his matrimonially acquired fortune in a way he had discovered a newly created knighthood could not.

 

 

From what Logan has been able to piece together, he believes his grandfather had never truly liked or trusted Sir Aaron. But the twelfth Baron had also known the power of sentiment and the character of his daughter. He had feared that if he did not give his blessing, she would elope and marry Sir Aaron without even the small protection a marriage settlement would give her.

 

 

She was both a Logan and Leister herself.

 

 

And so, he had tacitly approved the match then negotiated her settlement as if he was fighting a battle. Hopeful either that the difficulty would deter Sir Aaron, or that time would lead his daughter to change her mind. Neither happened. The negotiations ended and the couple were wedded.

 

 

Within a year both of Logan’s uncles were dead.

 

 

Not due to Sir Aaron. He was not so clever or powerful as that.

 

 

No, their deaths could be firmly laid on their choice of occupation. 

 

 

But Logan’s uncle’s deaths had meant that while Sir Aaron had negotiated for a bride who was the daughter of Baron, he now had a wife who was to be a Baroness in her own right, and was the heiress presumptive of her father’s entire estate.

 

 

One would think this would be a source of satisfaction to one as vain as Sir Aaron. Instead it seemed a cause of resentment. Another grievance he held against the world, another excuse for his ill treatment of his family.

 

 

Logan’s grandfather had revised his will repeatedly throughout the last years of his life. He hoped he had created a document that found an acceptable balance between protecting his family’s legacy and protecting what was left of his family.

 

 

The twelfth Baron had feared what Sir Aaron might do if given complete control of the Abbey and the rest of his estate. But he feared even more what Sir Aaron might do if not given some measure of the power he so desired.

 

 

It is difficult to say with certainty that Logan’s grandfather truly succeeded in this.

 

 

Logan did live to manhood.

 

 

But as well intentioned as he believed his grandfather to have been there were times, that Logan wondered if he had erred a bit too much towards protecting the family legacy.

 

 

The requirement that Logan take the Logan-Leister name, while a common request in such wills, had not only given Logan to have the rather unwieldy triple surname of Logan-Leister-Echolls but It also had continually vexed Sir Aaron. And a vexed Sir Aaron was often not a safe one to be near.

 

 

The measures and compromises of this will had meant that Sir Aaron had been limited in what he could sell or improve on what was now Logan’s land, but how this was achieved now limited Logan as well.

 

 

The Abbey along with much of what he had received from his grandfather was entailed in such a way that Logan had as little say in who would inherit it as he did his title. He could not leave it to his half-brother. Or Katrina, or any of his Godchildren should he wish.

 

 

He could not even leave it to Veronica.

 

 

He could only attempt to set enough aside to make provisions for them--- for her in other ways.

 

 

A fact which was proving especially worrying now, as he prepared once again to go to war.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who kudoed and commented. It really does act as motivation. And feedback (good or bad) or questions is very much appreciated. 
> 
> I hope everyone continues to enjoy the story.


	13. Half-Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I have to give an extra thank you again to [AmyPC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPC/works) for acting as my Beta. 
> 
>  
> 
> Second: I have to squee a little over the fact that part of this story was actually acted out by Jason Dohring and Kristen Bell. (And thank you to everyone who gave out links to this story from that video on tumblr and other platform.)
> 
>  
> 
> Third: I think I should probably give a warning that this chapter and the next were written without having seeing Season 4. 
> 
>  
> 
> Finally: It might help to know for this chapter that falling sickness is an older term for epilepsy. 
> 
>  
> 
> If there’s anything else that doesn’t make sense or you have questions about please let me know.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you.

 

Veronica found herself unexpectedly nervous.

 

 

When she had accepted Logan’s proposal, she had known she might face objections from her father and friends.

 

 

She had known she would be placing herself within a circle of society that would look down upon her for her actions, her wit and her birth. That she would be expected to move among those she would otherwise abhor.

 

 

But she had also known that, whatever their objections, her friends and family would, in the end, wish her to be happy.

 

 

And she had also known, with a certainty few would credit, that if Logan was forced to choose between society, and her, he would choose her. Regardless of the consequences. That he detested most of them as well. That he had no one among them whose opinion he might place above her own. And selfish though that might be, that had comforted her.

 

 

And was that not advantage to marrying an orphan? There was no family to object.

 

 

And yet, there was.

 

 

 

It was not that Veronica feared that Logan would spurn her, should Mr. Stone disapprove. But rather that, having witnessed the esteem with which Logan now viewed his half-brother, she found herself hoping for him to accept her.

 

 

And not simply because of the awkwardness that would result each Sunday should he not.

 

 

Veronica had discovered Sir Aaron had a natural son not long before the events that had led to her removal from Norton. She and Logan had been in their first, short period of attachment. While investigating whether Logan’s then land steward had been embezzling from Logan’s estate, she had chanced on the record of the annuity paid to Mr. Charles Stone and his mother.

 

 

At the time Mr. Stone had only just finished his studies at Oxford and was awaiting ordination. His prospects, now that Sir Aaron, who he had expected as a benefactor was dead, seemed poor. A curacy perhaps. What was clear, was in spite of this, he did not wish to acknowledge his connection with Sir Aaron or Logan.

 

 

Since Veronica’s departure from Norton, however, this had changed.

 

 

A circumstance which she was sure had nothing to do with the living of St. Cyprian which Logan had bestowed upon Mr. Stone, or the right to next presentation for a second living Logan had purchased for him.

 

 

Regardless of what Veronica believed may have initiated the reconciliation between brothers, however, it had every appearance of now being a truth, and a complete one. Mr. Stone was now a constant part of Logan’s life and in Norton. And a beneficial part from what she could discern.

 

 

Unlike Logan’s great Uncle, Mr. Stone was not (or at least not yet) an absent cleric. He lived at the rectory, and performed his duties for his parishioners himself, rather than rely on a curate.  He even appeared to write or at least adapt many of his own sermons rather than simply reciting them verbatim from one of the many prepared books created for such purposes.

 

 

As for what those sermons revealed about his beliefs and characters --- she could not say much. She could not remember any that she found particularly objectionable. There were the usual calls for moderation and modesty in action. Prayers for deliverance from the threat of Napoleon and war.

 

 

Veronica could even recall several occasions when Mr. Stone had called on his flock to show compassion towards their fellow man, regardless of their position and transgressions. Something which she doubted would place him in favour with many of his wealthier parishioners. All of which suggested spoke to his character being, at the very least, better than most of Logan’s living relations.

 

Of course, she also knew all too well that what one’s character was in public and what one’s principals were in abstract could be very different than ones conduct and habits in private.

 

 

Strictly speaking, Veronica had been introduced to Mr. Stone.  She had attended Sunday services at St. Cyprian church both with the Kings and since their removal. But the attention given to a parishioner differed greatly from that given to a future sister.

 

 

Arranging for this more intimate introduction had proved more difficult than expected. Mr. Stone did not have wife or sister to act as hostess and Veronica’s own father was in no condition to act as a chaperone.

 

 

Thus, while the possibility of Veronica dining at the rectory, was not necessarily improper, it was also not entirely proper either. And propriety, or at least maintaining the appearance of it, was felt to be very much a necessity for Mr. Stone.

 

 

While some might say this to be hypocritical, given Mr. Stone’s birth, Veronica understood his caution and knew it was precisely because of his birth that he felt the need to exercise it. Mr. Stone was expected to exemplify morality. Principle. Virtue. But he owed his life and position to an act of impropriety that, regardless of his own innocence in it, would by many forever taint him.

 

 

Logan, however, had anticipated this likely complication, and arranged for a solution. Unfortunately, this solution was not truly desirable to any of those involved. Shortly after Veronica had entered into their engagement Logan had written to the only friend who might be willing to act as hostess for such a meeting.

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Castleblanche had condescended to take a departure from her customary route to London for the season, and even to purposely spend several days under the same roof as her husband, so that she might host a dinner party to mark Logan’s last few days in Norton.

 

 

And so it was, that tonight Veronica found herself staring at her spare wardrobe, attempting to distract herself from the fact that she was soon to spend the evening with  what might well be the only persons outside of herself and the army who genuinely cared for Logan and for whose opinions he genuinely cared about.

 

 

All of them.

 

 

Together.

 

 

Perhaps if she had more than one gown to consider, this might have proved more successful as a distraction.  For there was only one that would suit. The muslin dress she had worn during her time as a governess, when allowed to dine with the Kings. It was modest in all senses of the world.

 

 

There had been a brief period, after Mrs. King had discovered that Veronica’s connections with the Haldermans and others within Norton’s society might serve as an entrance into said society for her girls and before those connection became the centre of a murder, when Veronica had attended several social events. Mrs. King had loaned (and altered) one of her own older gowns for Veronica to wear. But that dress had returned to London with Mrs. King after Veronica had chosen to stay in Norton.

 

 

As she contemplated this lack of acceptable dresses, Veronica heard Miss Mackenzie attempt to gain her attention. Turning, she was surprised to see Miss Mackenzie holding a pale rose coloured gown.

 

 

The black riding habit had not been the only dress Veronica had left in Norton when she had fled all those years ago. Carefully packed away among her other childhood things had been the gown she had worn during her first brief season. When Miss Mackenzie had suggesting altering the dress so it could be worn once again, Veronica had originally recoiled.

 

 

There was a reason she had left it behind.

 

 

Miss Mackenzie had, however, argued that the best way to honour both Veronica’s own memories of that time and the girl that had been so much a part of them was to make the dress fashionable again. Veronica had consented.

 

 

She had not expected Miss Mackenzie to work so fast.

 

 

On seeing the gown now completed, Veronica could not help but feel a pang of sadness and agitation at the loss. She was, however, able to push those sentiments aside in favour of her admiration for how well Miss Mackenzie had managed to alter the dress to fit both Veronica's sensibilities and the current fashions, while still retaining much of what made the dress so beautiful to the young girl she had been.

 

 

 “Whenever did you have time to do this?” Veronica asked Miss Mackenzie finally, “You must have been working your fingers to the bone for the last week.”

 

 

“What else was I to do when you were sitting at your father’s bedside? Or when I was sitting at your father’s bedside for that matter?”

 

 

“I had thought you would dye it.” Veronica confessed. “I wasn’t sure the colour would still suit. It has been quite a while since my first season.” Miss Mackenzie gave Veronica an incredulously look. Veronica returned it with a smirk.

 

 

“I would not have spent, the better part of the week working my fingers to the bone if I thought it would not suit. In fact, I believe it will suit very well.” She told her. “You, Miss Mars, have only just become engaged. To a Baron. If there is ever a time to wear such a dress it is now. Now, sit so I have time to fix your hair in fashion that will make your dinner companions envious of you and their maids vexed at me. I have a reputation to maintain.”

 

 

Veronica dutifully complied.

 

 

****

 

 

Logan had sent his closed carriage for her. After a slightly awkward dance between herself and the groom, Veronica helped herself inside for the short ride to the Castleblanche’s Apples Crescent house.

 

 

Once there, Veronica discovered that their dinner party would not quite be as small as she had expected. Mrs. Castleblanche had invited a visiting friend, spending the winter in Norton for her health. Logan had then been asked to even out the party by inviting one of his fellow cavalry officers, a Captain Michaels.

 

 

Veronica made sure to give a suitably vexed glare to Logan. She had, however, more than forgiven him, once she realized that the additions, whether by chance or purpose, would mean she would not have to sit next to Mr. Castleblanche at dinner.

 

 

Over the course of the meal Veronica discovered that Captain Michaels had a slightly cynical dry wit which made it plain why he and Logan had become friends.

 

 

Miss Henrietta proved herself to be just as amiable and have just as keen understanding as Logan’s anecdotes suggested.

 

 

Mrs. Castleblanche was somewhat reserved, though this seemed more to do with her general manner than from any particular objection to Veronica or to the match. The agitation Logan had mentioned between the Castleblanche was plain, and, had they been alone Veronica might have suggested she and Logan take wagers as to whether it would result in an argument or a new Castleblanche after the guests had left.

 

 

Even Mr. Castleblanche seemed on his best behaviour. That is to say, he managed to keep his conduct and language just on the proper side of propriety.

 

 

Mr. Stone was unexceptionable.

 

 

He confessed he enjoyed novels, but seemed embarrassed at doing so. He avoided discussing politics or anything else that might cause conflict or be considered improper for a lady. His conversation was kept light. Passing. Dull.

 

 

It was not until she and the other ladies had left the dining room, and were waiting for the gentleman to follow for tea that she comprehended that this was, in fact, because he was just as anxious to make a good impression on her as she was on him. 

 

 

While this, in itself, did endear him to her to some degree, it also meant that she felt she knew no more about him after their interview than she had before. And in spite of her own best efforts, it proved impossible to rectify this once the men returned to their party.

 

 

Well, perhaps not _best_ efforts.

 

 

First Veronica was prevailed upon by Miss Henrietta to sing. Logan had, it seemed, neglected to include in his account of her she had an almost unnatural ability to make one feel obliged to do as she requested using just her wide eyes and the threat of a sad countenance.

 

 

After this, Mrs. Castleblanche had somewhat unexpectedly taken up the pianoforte and the rest of the evening had become an unpremeditated little dance.

 

 

There was no doubt who would be Veronica’s partner for the whole of it.

 

 

The only interruption, in fact, was a small break for tea during which it was Mr. Castleblanche, not Mr. Stone, who sought her out. He was, by this point, leaning far closer to drunk than strictly proper and told her in a somewhat thick voice to not use Logan ill again. It was oddly tender. And very awkward.

 

 

When the dancing ended, the hour allowed little else but for Veronica to return home

 

 

The evening, she supposed, could be considered a success. Veronica could not help wondering, however, if in their caution and desire to please, both she and Mr. Stone had done each other, and Logan a disservice.

 

 

****

 

 

“We need to speak again. About… about something regarding Duncan.” Veronica announced to Logan the next morning.

 

 

Veronica watched as first confusion then surprise came over Logan’s face.

 

 

This was to be expected. A gentleman rarely used his Christian name. A nobleman even less so. It was the purview of a wife, a brother, a sister, or other family; not necessarily even them. There were several peers who were still known, by those closest to them, as one of their titles or an abbreviated version.

 

 

During their childhood, as the steward’s daughter Veronica, would never have considered addressing Lor- _Duncan_ by his Christian name. Even Logan, who had been his particular friend since boyhood and had thought for a time of Duncan as all but a brother did not refer to him as such.

 

 

But given the nature of what she was to say, she thought the imprudence would function well as something of an acceptable warning.

 

 

“I had thought we had decided I should write to him?” Logan replied.

 

 

This was true. Both Veronica and Logan had not wished for Duncan to discover their engagement through rumours or the press.

 

 

More than a year after Lady Lillias’ death Duncan formed an attachment to a particular friend of both Lady Lillias and Veronica, Miss Margaret Manning. The attachment had led to an elopement to the continent, one contrived in part by Veronica herself. Then the birth far too few months later of their daughter.

 

 

Perhaps had they been given time the Kanes and the Mannings may have reconciled themselves to the match. But time, the couple did not have time. Margaret had died in childbirth and Duncan had spent the following years hiding from his both his father’s and society’s disappointment in whatever corner of the continent an Englishman could without falling on the wrong side of Napoleon.

 

 

It would not always be so, however. Eventually society would receive him again. One day, after his father’s death, he would become Lord Kane and would likely return to England and Reed Hall. He would be their neighbour. It would be best to stay on good terms with him. They could certainly do to have an ally in Norton.

 

 

Logan still counted Duncan as a friend and had corresponded with him, although irregularly. He was thus the more natural choice to write. However, he did not know all the particulars of her connection with Kanes. Especially those particulars that she did not usually wish to acknowledge even to herself.

 

 

The previous night’s party, however, had caused Veronica to reconsider certain secrets. So, this morning, she had decided to make a confession as to some of these particulars that was, perhaps, long past due.

 

 

“Yes. However, there is something which you should know, before you write.” She paused a moment and took a breath, stealing herself. “During my investigation of Lady Lillias’ death, I discovered a great many other secrets,”

 

 

“That I already know.” He said with a small smirk. She gave him a watery smile in return.

 

 

“One thing which I discovered was that the reason Lord Kane invited me to become Lady Lillias’ companion. The reason he seemed to take such a particular interest in me was not out of gratitude for my father’s work. But my mother’s.” She bit out.

 

 

Logan looked at her with even more confusion. She sighed internally. Why did his usual wit and understanding desert her _now_?

 

 

“They were lovers.” She rushed out. “My mother and Lord Kane. They had been since their youth. The fact they had each taken vows of love and loyalty to others had not changed this.”

 

 

“You have implied so before.” He said, gently.

 

 

“But what I haven’t implied or mentioned. What I haven’t stated out loud to anyone. Was that Lord Kane took an interest in my education not simply as a favour to his mistress but because he believed. _Believes._ I am in fact his natural daughter.

 

 

“Veronica…” He began. She interrupted. She needed to finish.

 

 

“Lady Lillias never stated as much, and I was far too naïve at the time to understanding her hints, but looking back I believe she discovered this before she returned from her first season.” Veronica explained.

 

 

Lady Lillias had given Veronica a locket for her sixteenth birthday, containing a lock of hair from each of them and created from one-half of a piece that had once been her grandmother’s. Veronica thought it was simply one of Lady Lillias somewhat ill thought dramatic gestures. But she now suspected it was her friends’ way to tell Veronica she accepted her as a sister.

 

 

“Her brother learned of it shortly afterward, while you were both home for the summer. It was why he was so cold to me during those last few days before you returned to school.” She looked up at him then, studying his reaction.

 

 

Logan seemed to pause, thinking a moment.

 

 

“In truth I had thought that was because he had something of a _tende_ for you, and was not sure how to proceed.” Veronica swallowed.

 

 

“You are not entirely wrong.” She told him, finally. “Lady Kane felt that he paid particular attention towards me during that holiday. That was why she told him of the affair.”

 

 

In fact, Duncan had not grown cold to her due to the affair itself, as one might expect but because he had… Because he fancied himself in love with her.

 

 

Veronica would allow she may have had some tender feelings towards Duncan. When they were both little more than children. But these feeling had never grown beyond just that. They had not been so strong as to overcome her certain knowledge that no respectable attachment could ever be formed between them. Certainly not strong enough to be called love.

 

 

 

“You once mentioned that you witnessed one of his fits, although you had not realized it at the time.” Veronica reminded Logan. Logan nodded.

 

 

One of the other secrets she had discovered during her inquiry into Lady Lillias death, one she had shared with Logan, in a fashion, was that Duncan was afflicted with a peculiar form of falling sickness.

 

 

Many families would have hidden such a child away. Fostering him out for the duration of what would be most likely a short, frail life.

 

 

The Kane’s had decided to care for him themselves. Once, Veronica might have thought this was out of love. Now she understood it was out of stubbornness and pride.

 

 

Duncan was Lord Kane’s first-born son. As long as he survived, he would become Earl Kane after his father.  There was no hiding that.

 

 

And Lord Kane had always dreamed that his eldest son and heir would enter politics and one day head the government as First Lord of the Treasury.

 

 

He was not about to allow something as inconsequential as illness stop that.

 

 

So, instead of hiding the boy from society due to his affliction, they made sure the boy hid this affliction from society. From everyone. Even his closest companions.

 

 

 “I believe the fit you witness, may have been induced from Lord Kane confirming his affair with my mother. And my parentage. And that this was why he did not return to school with you that term.” She stated.

 

 

How much grief would have been avoided if Duncan _had_ simply returned. If his parents hadn’t feared another fit had been the cause of Lady Lillias death.

 

 

“But surely…” Logan let out a long breath. “You cannot believe that Lord Kane is your father.”

 

 

” My father is my father in every way that matters.” She answered quickly, knowing Logan would understand her meaning. “But as to whose blood I am,” She let out a sigh. “I asked my mother, one of the few times I spoke to her since I discovered her affair. She began to cry and confessed even she was not sure.”

 

Logan again appeared to consider her a moment.

 

 

“Veronica, you know in what high esteem I hold your wit and good understanding. But...” Logan paused a moment as if searching for the correct words. Then, shaking his head, continued.  “The idea that you are Lord Kane’s daughter is preposterous. Any fool can see you are your father to the very life.”

 

 

Veronica felt a familiar warmth for this man spread throughout her chest. 

 

 

Still.

 

 

“You know there are some who might take offense at such a comparison.” She told him. Then smirked in an effort to distract from the moisture forming in her eyes.

 

 

“I don’t see why; you know father to be a very handsome man.” He told her, smirking himself. “Although ….” He paused a moment as if to examine her “I will say I am rather glad you seem to take after your mother,” He gestured towards the top of her head, “up there.”

 

 

Veronica gave him another smile. Then a requisite shove 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, to everyone who has commented or kudoed. 
> 
> Feedback feeds my muse. Or is my muse? Anyway --- it really helps. So thanks. 
> 
> I was wondering if anyone would have an interest in a timeline for this universe (done in a format similar to Jane Austen's History of England) or a larger list/ general explanation of the names and "easter eggs" within this fic? Let me know in the comment!
> 
> Thank you again. I hope everyone continues to enjoy the story.


	14. Always

There are already far too many volumes dedicated to lover’s sorrows and separation. And so, of Lord Logan’s removal from Norton I will say only this.

 

 

He waited until the last possible moment to depart.

 

 

He and Miss Mars exchanged tokens of their affection (along with several more practical gifts) the day before.

 

 

There had been no time for the painting of miniatures.

 

 

Miss Mars gave Lord Logan a lock of her hair. This anticipated treasure Lord Logan quickly placed inside a previously prepared ring.

 

 

The current army regulations meant Lord Logan had little hair left to give. Instead he gave Miss Mars a snuff box. Carved by his grandfather during his period of captivity. On its top, carved in wood now worn smooth from the touch of three generations were his grandparents’ initials entwined: L & M

 

 

On the day he was to take his leave, Lord Logan breakfasted at the Mars’ house with Mrs. Fennell and Miss Mackenzie acting as chaperones. Both women discovered, shortly before he would need to depart, they both had business in other rooms of the Mars’ small house.

 

 

Veronica gave Logan the sort of kiss one would not want to witness.

 

 

Afterwards the two leaned into each other a moment, forehead pressed together and uttered vows as solemn and heartfelt as any said before the church’s rail.

 

 

“Come back to me?”

 

 

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank [AmyPC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPC/works) for once again helping me with this chapter.
> 
> And Thank you (again) to everyone who had kudoed and commented on this fic. 
> 
> Getting a comment always makes my day. 
> 
> But I appreciate feedback both good and bad. 
> 
> Now that Logan is in the Penninsula again, I am planning to take a break from E & E for a little and focus on Twelfth Night and the next story in this Regency VM Universe. 
> 
> I now have to make a confession: I have been a bad fangirl and I haven't had the opportunity to watch Season 4 yet. At the moment I am still planning to post the story I have had planned out (for month. Mostly. Sort of.) as the next story. Assuming that does not change, Lord Logan and Miss Mars story will continue as follows:
> 
> During the busiest and most fashionable months in the seaside resort of Norton Miss Veronica Mars attempts is already attempting to conduct several inquiries at once when Lord Logan returns, wounded and with a mystery of his own."
> 
>  
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying this story and this universe. As with E & E and Twelfth Night I plan to begin posting alternating chapters between the two stories. Mostly so I always have a story going where Veronica and Logan are together. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you again.

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent far to much time and energy on this given what it has actually amounted to so far. My plan (such that it is) is to have this be a mix of austen-esque exposition, "deleted" scenes and just sort of anything else that I am experimenting with and (eventually) writing another story that is an actual mystery. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
